


In Loving Memory of Sherlock Holmes (Reminiscence)

by jessythewriter



Series: In Loving Memory of Sherlock Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: American Benedict Cumberbatch, Drugs, Ginger Benedict Cumberbatch, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Professor Benedict Cumberbatch, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock NOT being Sherlock, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 30,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7236529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessythewriter/pseuds/jessythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after the death of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson lead on a life: a duller, boring life. He found a new profession, a new apartment, a new him.</p><p>But then, the new department head of the Psychology department arrived, and John's curiosity will make him eliminate all the impossibilities to get the truth out of it, however improbable.</p><p>Even if he looks exactly like Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first version of my story I've been building up in my head. No beta but please do comment so that I can hear you out.
> 
> Enjoy!

A by-passer.

That is John Watson’s definition of Sherlock Holmes’ role in his life: a by-passer. In a snap, he deduced John’s whole being, became his flatmate less than 24 hours after they’ve met, made him shoot a cabbie less than 48 hours after they’ve shaken hands. He became his colleague, his partner, his bestfriend.

And now, he became a long lost loved one.

It was fifteen years since he last visited his therapist. Fifteen long years since he severed ties with Mycroft Holmes, since he moved out of Baker Street, since he had an adrenaline rush solving cases, since he saw the head of his bestfriend, broken, bloody on the street where St. Bart’s stand. Now, at this very moment, he sits, on his desk, getting a 100-pound dollar pay, looking for a new pub he might invite Greg Lestrade in, since it is always the same bar they hang out in.

Then he heard the school bell ring.

John lazily stood up from his desk, closed his laptop, and grabbed a handful of books. Walking through the door, a boy bumped him while running in the hallway.

“Sorry, Mr. Watson.” The boy abruptly apologized.

“It’s quite alright Justin. Now please hurry up, you’ll be late for my class.”

If Sherlock was alive, he would laugh hysterically at where John is right now. Getting up every day to teach basic college Biology where in fact he can chase murderers or robbers in the streets of London at noon.

_If you are alive, you can tell me that right into my face._

It’s Friday, so he and Lestrade have the liberty to go to a pub, have a couple of drinks, and then call it a night. They basically talk about anything. But there’s one thing that John’s jealous about Greg is this…

“So, how are things going on with Mycroft?” John asked dryly.

“We fight often John, but as you know, that’s how ‘old-married’ couples do.”

“Oh, so now you’re ‘old-married?’”

“Eh, still working on it.” Greg gulps a pint. “But still, the sex is awesome.”

He really does not know either why he keeps asking him this, maybe because now Greg is his bestfriend. But he kept on getting hurt, it was like getting stabbed on the gut everytime he asked this and always getting the same answer: Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes happily ever after.

But what about his?

 _Dead and rotting._ He angrily thought, giving off that smirk on his face.

A bit of groggy, John headed to the tube, his body covered in a very thick jacket, air coming out of his nose and mouth, wrapping around a blue scarf around his neck.

_Sherlock’s scarf._

It was the scarf Sherlock wore around his Belstaff, the first time they met, when they shook hands, when they solved a lot of cases, when he found him lying lifeless on the street. He asked Molly for it before the morgue took his body away. Mycroft did not seem to mind it. It was the only thing he took out of Baker Street with him. To him, it seemed he saw Sherlock in it. It seemed Sherlock is still with him.

Until today.

They say alcohol fuels every emotion: happiness, sorrow, anger. But can it also fuel longing? Because as John Watson waited for the flooded tube to be empty before he got in, he bumped into something. No, _someone._ Flustered, he was about to confront the person, and when he looked up, it was…

“Sherlock?”

But just like a blink of an eye, the image was gone.

Funny how alcohol works, or is it the brain, or the heart? John never knew. And he will never know.

Now John laughed at himself, sitting on the corner of the train. He pitied his lonely self, and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets the newest psychology department head. Wonder who is he?

Today’s Monday, once again. John never had any particular day that he hates, but since he started his teaching job, he just got used to disliking it, not to mention the morning faculty meetings they should and must attend, so he usually arrives earlier than the rest of the days.

John’s work attitude remained the same: smiling but never talkative, approachable yet never open. He had installed himself a wall, being apart from others. He never really liked to go out. After work, he just visits either a small pub to have a pint or a coffee shop and order tea. He slowly adored solitude, and came an understanding as to why his late consulting detective preferred the company of anyone. Well, maybe one.

_Guess who put me up in this kind of mindset, anyway._

He is now sitting on the first chair at the second to the last row of the audio visual room, where every Monday meeting takes place. At morning, they will have a general faculty meeting, to which all the departments are obliged to attend. In the afternoon, they will have a department meeting, so Mondays are equal to boring days, sitting with his ridiculous ID around his neck, wearing formal attire for mediocre instructors, and faking smiles to his colleagues.

To be honest, John just sleeps at his seat every time their principal talks. He’s kind of expert at hiding it and when caught, nods and pretends he very well understood what he blabbered. Before doing so, he looked at the old, bald guy now walking in front of the stage, with the room starting to get full of teachers laughing, talking, and judging each other secretly. John somewhat got Sherlock’s deduction abilities, practicing it by doing a “head-to-foot” look as some teachers, and seems to be getting good at it as time passes by. It became a little game inside his head. Now, it’s back to the principal’s turn to get deduced.

_Okay, third wife coming up, based on how his tie is carefully arranged today unlike the last months. Had sex before coming to work, and still getting contacted by his previous wife based on his expressions as he looks towards his phone, probably wants a divorce by now. And…_

But the microphone started to echo, and John’s attention was caught by it, straining his concentration to the now smiling principal, testing the microphone if it worked.

John starts to close his eyes, drifting to sleep. It’s still the same reminders tough, lesson plans on time, encourage students to properly wear IDs, wages getting delayed at least three days. Blah blah blah, round the carousel it goes.

At the door near the stage, a tall blonde man, entered from it, gaining everybody’s gaze, eyes all looking at him, except for John sleeping silently. The principal looked at him, grinning and started. “Before I dismiss all of you, I would like to introduce the newest member of our institution. He will be the new department head of the psychology department. He had his Master’s at Oxford University in the United States. Although brought up in America, he was still recognized by the British Royal Society for his efforts in the advancements in the field of psychology. Recently, he worked with experimental designs on triggering the psychopathic tendencies of a person. Please help me welcome, Dr. Benedict Timothy Cumberbatch!”

Applauses flooded the room. The psychology doctor was now requested to speak.

“Hello. Uhm, sorry, quite not a fan of a huge crowd. Good morning everyone, I am Benedict Timothy Cumberbatch. Bearing such a ridiculous name, I would prefer anyone here to call me Ben.”

Everyone looked at him like he’s some sort of a prince. He was young, enigmatic, and has a very charming, baritone voice. He was tall, having a typical office man hair cut, but him wearing it looks like he is a CEO of a multinational company. His American accent is pretty clear, although the characteristics of a British man are overflowing out of him.

“Uhm, I am very new here in London. I have stayed my whole life in the United States. However, there is something inside me that wants to go back here, to the land where I was born, and to embark on a journey to widen my knowledge in the field of psychology.”

Dr. Cumberbatch continued on giving a brief background of his study. Everyone else was looking at him, like he’s the star of the National Football Team of England, giving away the final free kick. Meanwhile, John Watson is sleeping soundly when suddenly his cellphone blasted a loud blast of sound coming off of his alarm.

Startled, John woke up immediately, and now everybody else’s attention is on him, including the speaker on the stage. Panicking, he swiftly obtained his phone from the left pocket of his coat and murmured, “Sorry, sorry, so-…”

His attention immediately caught the man onstage, still staring at him. Now their eyes met. John’s eyes widened, dropping the phone from his hand, feeling all the strength drained from him. The other man averted his eyes to the principal, gaining a go signal to continue speaking.

“Ah, that’s all for today. Please feel free to come by my office if you wanna talk and hang out. I would really love to explore London. Thank you and good morning.”

By those words, he got off the stage. John Watson just stared at him. Dr. Cumberbatch was about to exit through the door he entered. John didn’t know what to do; it seemed that his feet walked by themselves. With a blank thought, John rushed to him, grabbing the tall man’s shoulder before he made his way through the door. The man stopped and turned around.

“Sh-Sherlock?”

John carefully studied the face of the psychology doctor. Astounded, his words were “Y-you’re alive?”

The doctor smiled back at him. “Excuse me Professor. Next time you get into meetings, make sure your alarm’s set off.” Then he started to walk again when John grabbed his arm.

“Sherlock? What the hell is happening here? Explain it to me, now!”

“I’m sorry Professor, but who are you?”


	3. Chapter 3

_I’m sorry Professor, but who are you?_

The second John heard those words he just stared straight to Dr. Cumberbatch’s face. Eyes filled with shock, but mind painted blank. This time the taller man patted his shoulder. His head turned to the hand that touched him, then went back staring in his face.

“If you want to discuss something, feel free to come by my office. Gotta dash.”

Dr. Cumberbatch left with a smile, walking briskly, leaving John dumbfounded.

His afternoon went by, but there was no second that passed by that he sees that face.

_I’m sure it was Sherlock! I was pretty sure! I mean I looked at his face, his eyes, his everything! THAT WAS HIM!_

But everything went confusing for him, striking a lot of questions in his mind like a tennis ball machine, with a never-ending firing of balls towards him.

_He is Sherlock, all of him! Besides that ridiculous haircut, and that flashy suit, and that annoying accent, he is Sherlock Holmes!_

But he knew something was off.

_It’s like it’s him but it’s not._

Now he doesn’t know what to do. Should he tell Greg? Contact Mycroft? Tell Mrs. Hudson?

Sprawling in his desk, with the knowledge of the psych department head’s office just a floor away from the biology faculty room, John finally decided what to do.

_Observe._

He tried to absorb everything, like putting all of his raging mixed emotions into a ball and put it away somewhere in that delicate heart of his.

Then he was bound home.

At that same night, along with a couple of beers, John was lying on his bed, thinking on what his next move might be. _Should I confront him? Ask him around until I know the truth?_

That particular night, the ceiling was his only friend.

The following morning, John went to school for another Tuesday teaching. Aside from his rushing emotions, everything about him in the outside was perfectly normal. He was a bit nervous, excited, angered, happy, relieved, call it what you want, but that’s how he feels.

Instead of directly going to his office, he went to the psychology department at the third floor. His wristwatch read 7:00, so no one’s still around the floor. He checked Dr. Cumberbatch’s office, peeking through a plexiglass, his office has quite a huge floor area. A typical office workplace, with that name plate, having his name on it. Things, not so much, since he just moved in too. And that’s it.

Now John went back to his faculty room, and waited until it was 7:45, and went back through the psych dept secretary, who just arrived, as correctly estimated by him.

 Knocking slowly, he acted nicely in front of the secretary. “Hi.”

He was greeted back by a warm smile. “Hi.”

“So, uhm, any appointments with Dr. uhm.. C-cu…”

“Dr. Cumberbatch.” Both of them smiled. “Yeah, a lot of them wants to talk to him, but their kind of intimidated by him. Although he pretty wants to have a comapanion, you know beinga newbie and all.”

John looked at her. “Any way that I can, you know, talk to him?”

“Yes, of course. Please state your reason, and I will check his schedule for today.”

“W-well…” John stammered. “I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday in the meeting. And I would love to hear about his studies, personally.”

“Is lunchtime okay for you?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anytime will do.”

“Okay, please come back by that time.”

“Thanks.” John waved a goodbye.

As he exited the room and walked slowly, his heart started to thump a lot harder than earlier.

_In less than five hours, I might be able to talk to him. After fifteen years._

_To Sherlock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I imagined Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch as Ben's character in Tinker Tailor Soldier spy as Peter Guillam. For me, I think, that is the best formal character he ever portrayed, with all the suits and cases and spy plots (yes i am very much turned on by guys I like in suits). 
> 
> Check this link out: http://www.benedictcumberbatch.co.uk/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/11-je4.jpg  
> That's the image of him I'm fantasizing about in this fic.
> 
> Sherlock enough? *grins*


	4. Chapter 4

The school bell echoes in every hallway of The New England University. To a student, it is the most melodic symphony of the day. To an instructor, it is the indicator of freedom from all the lectures and hardheaded students.

To John Watson, it is the moment of truth.

The corridor seemed to be miles and miles away. The pounding in his heart, no one can explain and beneath measure. He never felt like this before. Reaching for the stair railings is like clinging for his damn life. Now his feet lead him back outside the psychology department office.

The blinds are now closed inside the department head’s office. Now John was not so sure if he can handle this. He felt two opposing forces, one that’s trying to push him to open the door and one that pulls him away from it. In between this dilemma, the secretary whom he approached earlier today made the push to be an irrevocable decision.

“H-Hi. It’s me.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” The secretary looked at him flirtatiously. “You forgot to tell me your name earlier.”

John smiled awkwardly. “John uhm Watson, from the Biology Department.”

“Okay, John. Dr. Cumberbatch is inside.”

John felt another hard thump in his heart.

“Okay, good. C-can I come in now?”

With a nod, John took the door knob on his hands. He took a deep breath as he turned it, jarring it open and having a peek inside the office.

The office was larger to see inside than what he did earlier. Now the whole office is decorated with a bunch of books. As his eyes scanned the area, he saw a magazine shelf, full of Time and Reader’s Digest. The table was still at the center, and the nameplate isn’t alone now. It has been accompanied by two picture frames on either side, a telephone machine, a wide-screen Apple computer monitor, all fairly organized. However the only thing that grabbed John’s attention from everything inside the elegant office is the figure of the back of a man, standing and looking outside the only window in the room, his silhouette formed by the light coming from the outside. John’s memories came back rushing, of how similar this figure is to the person who used to be doing that too, on the window of 221B’s living room, alongside that music stand and the violin held by him, as he watches him compose from his old sofa.

The figure turned, acknowledging his presence.

“Oh sorry, didn’t see you there. Please please, come in.”

John felt heavy bricks attached to his feet as he walked slowly to the desk, deliberately revealing the face of the man that invited him.

_This man literally has Sherlock’s face!_

The doctor sat on his chair as he motioned jokingly, “Oh don’t be shy. Please do take a seat.”

John did. Somehow the accent along with the baritone voice he is hearing is really uncomfortable to hear, coming out of the other man, who continues to smile at him. Finally, the shorter man spoke, “Doctor Cumberbatch, I-“

“Oh, please. I hate other people struggling to say my name right. Please, call me Ben… John.”

John felt a tingle in his spine. It was like being electrocuted by a thousand volts. Never again in his life that he thought he will hear his name be called by that voice. It’s all still the same, nothing changed.

_He called me by my name._

_He knows my name!_

_Deduction skills still never fades! This will be followed by a snarky comment!_ Or so he thought.

John needed to confirm. “H-How did you know my name?”

“I.D.!” Ben answered cheerfully. “I can see it from here, you’re name in your I.D.!”

John’s grin became wider. Ben continued to look at him smiling.

_Not doing a comment on my tie or my brow and deducing that I’m gonna rip his throat and kill him if I confirmed that he is Sherlock?_

The scene became a lot more awkward when thankfully Ben broke the tension. “Yes, you said you wanted to say something?”

John was snapped back to reality, finally averting his gaze from the man to his desk. “Ah, yes. I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday, at the meeting.” His comfort is now starting to reduce.

“No problem. I experienced that one time, in my university, and all my classmates laughed at me while the teacher’s face? Very hilarious. So I totally understood.”

 _Okay, very talkative._ John thought. “And where’s this school anyway?”

“Uh. Florida. Science high school, my hometown.”

_Oh come on, are you still gonna pretend? Tell me the truth Sherlock!_

Ben started to talk, while holding a pen in his right hand. “Actually, you were the first one to respond to my call yesterday. And fact is, you were even sleeping!”

John now became puzzled and asked, “Why is that so?”

“I mean, you’re the first person to come here and talk to me. Like literally, since I got here. Everyone’s kind of intimidated to me. Hey, I’m a nice person.”

_Okay. Way too much acting. Spill the beans Sherlock Holmes!_

“Have you never been to London, uhm, Ben?” John calling him Ben was way awkward than this situation he is in right now.

“Yes. John.” Those words still made him tingle. “I grew up in Florida you know. By the time I graduated from Oxford, I laid low and became some professor in Brooklyn. Then I became the dept chairman there. In some of the seminars I attended, a colleague introduced me to a small university in London. Well, my mother’s of London descent so I really wanted to come here.”

The confusion on John’s face can be drawn on a piece of canvass, it was so obvious. “So, you’re not from London, but your mother was?”

“Correct.”

“And you’re an American?”

“Home of the brave and proud.”

“And it’s your first time here in London?”

“Correct.”

Hearing all of this, John wanted to throw a fist on the other man's face and shout at him to reveal his identity.

_This is all madness! You are Sherlock Holmes, a Londoner your whole life! Your brother even IS the British Government!_

John cannot put up with this madness and decided to better walk out of the room to avoid punching the Sherlock Holmes on his face, when he stumbled on of the picture frames on the desk that Ben immediately caught in his hands.

“Woah, careful that one.”

It was then that John confirmed all of his suspicion.

Ben smiled as he looked at John staring at the photo. “You know, it’s quite hard for me to be here, alone, leaving my family there in Brooklyn. Can’t afford to bring them though. But when I do, I will find a small house here in London and gonna live there with them.”

John responded with a bitter tone in his voice. “S-sorry. I guess I should leave, it’s almost 1 in the afternoon and class starts soon.”

“Yes, yes. I was pleased by your company today John.” Ben answered as he arranged the frame back into its position.

“Goodbye.” John quickly disappeared as soon as he can, not hearing Ben’s answer.

And John’s destination was not back to the biology faculty room, or to his next class, but to the bathroom located near the stairwell, which was empty by that time. He turned the faucet on, washed his face and through his blonde hair, and kept the water running. He is now looking at himself through the foggy mirror.

Because you see, he just confirmed his suspicions. All of them, being wrong.

Because the man he desperately wanted to tell him the truth in that room was never that man he expected him to be.

Because although Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch was the total resemblance of his late friend Sherlock Holmes, he could never be him.

Because that man he talked to earlier has a wife and a kid, just as the photograph inside the frame revealed to him.

_Oh bloody stupid and idiot John._

_Of course. Why would he be Sherlock Holmes?_

_He’s dead._


	5. Chapter 5

John was so distracted that afternoon he decided to leave early, leaving a note on his desk. He relied to having a very strong migraine as an excuse. Truth is, it’s not only his head that aches, more of like his entire body system. The very vulnerable: heart.

He did not need a second look to confirm what he saw on that bloody picture frame. It was a woman, kissing Ben on his cheek, while he carries a small boy in his arms, with a park as a background. It was a photograph tasked to bring smiles, but it gave John grief. Because he thought he had another chance to be with his best friend, and it was stupid enough for him to believe because he had a feeling that he is just out there somewhere, waiting for the right time to be back again in the streets, hunting criminals and shutting down their big networks.

_Oh please John, will you stop being an idiot and wake to reality because you buried him, fifteen years ago, in that stupid cemetery!_

John wanted to bang his head on the wall. He wanted to scream at himself and tell him to move on. Because nothing in this world can bring back the life he had with Sherlock.

That same night, John went to the nearest pub all alone. He saw a girl and talked to her, enough to get her drunk. Then they went to some cheap motel and had sex. He sneaked out after that, leaving the girl alone in the room, still naked. Then he went back to his apartment, took a shower and shouted “SHERLOCK HOLMES IS DEAD!” Then he went to bed and slept.

The following day he had a hangover that he barely handled as he walked to the corridor. Hurrying on his way, carrying a bunch of test papers he missed on checking yesterday, he bumped into someone. All the papers scattered, along with a few pens of his.

“Oh s-sorry. J-John?”

He immediately knew who that was. This person is one of the last things he wanted to see today. He still doesn’t even have an idea on how to deal with every awkward situation that he meets him. And this is among them

“Ben. I’m sorry.” Is what he can muster up.

“I’m sorry I’m the one being careless.” Ben smiled again. For whatever reason, this guy seems to have an overflowing positive energy. However, John can’t still stand seeing Sherlock in him. He just busied himself getting back all the papers scattered at the floor. But in the corner of his eye he can also see Ben contributing some help.

“I have to go, gonna be late.” John said as he started to walk back.

“Wait John.” Again, he felt that hand that grabbed his shoulder a couple of days ago when they first met. John turned to him “Y-yeah?”

“It’s really lonely not to have a companion these days, especially during lunch breaks.”

John never said anything back.

“So, I was wondering if you could join me in the teacher’s lounge. No one still talks to me. I really hate being alone.”

John scanned his whole face, then out of nowhere came his answer. “Y-yeah. O-okay.”

“Great!” Ben clapped his hands. “Catch you later.”

John turned and continued to walk.

_What the hell, John? What the hell?_

At recess, John found himself sprawling on his desk while pondering on his answer upon Ben’s lunch request. _Fuck John, why?_

 _But what’s stopping you to make new friends?_ A thought popped to his mind.

True. Ben looks like Sherlock, in all aspects of his outer physical appearance. But there’s entirely different about this person that really takes him out of Sherlock. He’s a lot talkative, an optimistic guy that hates being alone. Everything in that sentence is the complete opposite of Sherlock. Besides, John led a miserable life since he got his teaching job. What’s wrong with making it less miserable?

John just arrived to the lounge fifteen minutes after the bell rang. And then he found Ben, sitting alone on a table on the corner near the water dispenser. All the teachers seem to avoid him. John came to the table and sat on one of the chairs. Now Ben looked at him and smiled.

“John, glad you came.”

“Y-yeah.”

“So can I buy you something for today?”

“No no, I’m good.”

“Oh come on.” Ben was totally persistent. “I was the one who invited you to have lunch with me. Let me get you a drink at least. But not that kind of drink though, you know school policies and such.”

John released a grin. _Did he just joked?_ “Ah, pineapple juice sounds nice.”

“Good.” Ben was about to go but he went back to the table. “And where is the cafeteria exactly?”

John finally laughed. “I’ll show you.”

“Great.” Then they walked out of the lounge together.

  * \- - - - - - - - - -  - -



Walking out of the cafeteria, John is now carrying a hotdog bun on his right hand and the juice on his left. Meanwhile, Ben, who was with him, is carrying two sandwiches, a tuna and a bacon, with a soda on the other hand. He started to eat the tuna.

“Wow! Your sandwiches really do have quite something.” Ben exclaimed while eating.

“Really?” John looked at him, puzzled.

“I don’t know… it’s kind of… English.”

“But we’re English.”

“Exactly!”

“I really don’t know how to respond to that.” Both of them laughed.

“So John, how long have you been teaching?” Ben asked the smaller man.

“Three years now.”

“Before that?”

John sighed. “Well, I am an army doctor.”

“Cool. It’s like two opposite professions. You get to kill and you get to save someone’s life!”

“Yeah probably that.”

“Let me guessed where you were assigned.”

“Go ahead.” But john felt never answering him.

 _Oh shit._ John thought. _Not this._

“Uhm. Iraq? Probably Iraq.”

“Afghanistan.” _Nope, he didn’t get it right._

“Damn it.”

“Why do you think Iraq?”

“I don’t know. It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

_Again, he has failed me. But why am I still hoping that he is?_

“Ben, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” They now passed by a bench facing the school’s baseball field.

“How did you ever find interest in psychology?”

Ben just opened his bacon sandwich. “Well, I am very fascinated with the human brain. I mean, it is the most central and active internal human body part. It’s just of small size in relation to a human, but it controls everything: oxygen flow, blood flow, even emotions!” He looked at John, eyes filled with awe. “Sorry. I just got carried away.”

“The brain is really your passion huh?”

“Yeah. Thanks to it, I’ve done a lot of researches and studies.”

“So what are your future plans?”

“Well, as the head of the psych department, I wanna conduct one of the most intriguing experiments ever in the field of psychology: the origin of good and evil and if it is controlled by a certain neuronal pathway.”

“That’s nice to hear. And cool.”

“Well it’s still a plan though.” Ben ate the last chunk of his sandwich.

“One last thing Ben.” John said to him. The bell rang again to remind everyone of their classes.

“Yeah?”

“By any instance you know a man named Sherlock Holmes?”

_It’s now or never. I really should get this over with, once and for all._

John never blinked. The other man looked back at him quizzically.

Finally he said, “Wow, that’s some kind of a weird name for a person. Are you sure it’s not a dog’s name?”

John laughed uncontrollably. With that, Ben laughed too.

John then said, “Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe he is a dog.”

“It was nice to finally have a friend around.”

“My pleasure.”

Ben shook his hand and left running, leaving John on the bench.

John looked at the paper cup he held on his hand, then he gazed up on the wide open football field.

_Goodbye my old friend._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it nice to find a new friend, and meeting with the old ones at the same place?
> 
> To John Watson, this could be the worst thing he can imagine.

It has been three weeks since John met the head of the psychology department Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch, and every single day he learned about the life of his new friend. Besides having the exact same physical outward appearance (height, stature, voice, and face), Ben has a lot of qualities that are the total opposite of Sherlock, like that of his hair, which is blonde and straight. He always projects a smile and positive outlook which earned him a lot of friends in both his faculty and some other teachers in the other departments. His office is so organized and does his work attentively and punctually, as he told John, “I don’t like stacking papers my desk. It adds to my headache!” He also likes to eat, a lot, especially the cafeteria sandwiches which he eats with two different flavors a day and confirmed he really likes to jog especially when it’s still foggy on the park near his apartment. John really liked his newfound friend. But a thing that’s peculiar about him is his memory. In just a week he knew all of the names of every faculty by their full names, as well of all the students that he is assigned to lecture, an eidetic memory, John calls it, to which Ben is really flattered of.

_It’s like the Sherlock that I wanted him to be._

It’s now five o’clock in John’s wristwatch. The sun was about to set, as he figured while catching a glimpse of it on the faculty room’s window. The usual noises of students are being replaced with a shout of silence in the corridors. As he walked on his way home, he saw Ben in one of the classrooms, sitting at the center table, staring at the empty chairs that were his audience. As John sees it, he was in deep thought, so he respectfully knocked on the door. Ben was startled and immediately recognized the sound coming from the door.

“Hey buddy.” John opened, meeting Ben’s gaze, chuckling. “Something bothering you?”

“No. Nothing.” Ben was swinging his legs now as John leaned on the door jamb.

“John…” Ben started. “What made you do teaching?”

John was confused where did that question came from. “Life in London is tough, Ben. You work to earn money to live. Everybody knows that.”

“Not any passion or inspiration? Just to earn money?”

“Yes.”

Ben now got up from the table. He walked straight to the door, passing John, and leaning his arms on the balcony, looking at the orange sky. He got something in his pocket, a pack of cigarettes. Getting a stick and putting it on his mouth, he lighted it and offered one to John. John walked and stayed beside him, grabbing one too, and smoked it.

“I was 13 when I was diagnosed with an unexplainable condition in the brain.” Ben told John. “That was my inspiration to explore what really is in the human brain that although it is the center of operations, it is so vulnerable.”

“Well, proof is you are still breathing, and doing what you wanna do. I mean, you got everything: a job you are passionate about, a beautiful family, getting the homeland of your mother explored.” John replied as Ben nodded on every statement.

“John, everything that has happened to you led you to where you are right now. It’s like a road map, that although the car you drive swivel, or may take the long cuts or short cuts, in the end, you will arrive to that destination. You went to teaching because there is a purpose. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

John chuckled in reply. “Where are those even coming from?” Both of them laughed.

Ben then spoke, “Speaking of homeland, John, will you be my official tour guide?”

“Tour guide?”

“Yeah, I mean, tomorrow’s a day off so you know, tour me around your city. As I’ve said on my first day, I’d really want to feel London, breathe it in. Besides, having you as a tour guide will save me up a lot of money.”

John laughed at the joke. “That’s not true at all. You’re the ”it” for dinner, then I’ll take your offer.”

“Sounds fantastic!”

“Alright. See you here tomorrow at the school’s entrance, so that you wouldn’t get lost.”

John left first, still smoking the cigarette. Ben stayed, realizing that his cigarette has now reached its end. He got another one and admired the sky’s view.

  * \--



Today is Saturday. Mostly in these days, John would just be on his couch, watching TV and eating cereal, and getting himself ready for a bar night with Greg. But that was not the case today, as he committed himself to be the newest London tour guide. Well, pretty much at least for his new friend.

John wore his casual clothing: his red polo, the jeans, and then the thick jacket he always wore at work. One of his leather shoes are now being used by him, the ones he really just wore two or three times, for this stroll.

He met with Ben, and led him to the tube. Arriving in London’s downtown sector, they went to all the popular places, the Big Ben, the Parliament, the London Eye, the Picadilly Square, all filled with a tremendous amount of people, walking as passing by them. With each place, Ben was filled with awe, which totally enjoyed John too. As Ben stated, “London is awesome!” while jumping in front of him.

While walking down the streets, John was also feeling nostalgic. He was truly an expert on London’s streets because most of them were adventures with Sherlock Holmes. Chasing criminals, meeting with the irregulars for some information, almost getting shot or stabbed in a corner, which made John’s heart heave. But seeing the amusement in Ben’s face is his reminder for his purpose, and that is to do his new friend a favor.

However, to avoid more nostalgia, John purposely avoid strolling Baker Street with Ben. It was too heavy for him to step onto the grounds of his past that he feared his tears would give in. For dinner they went to a newly opened restaurant where Ben wanted to try, as one of their co-workers suggested, which was coincidentally across Angelo’s, his first dinner with Sherlock. As they entered, the only vacant seats where the ones with a window view. The waiter took their order: Ben wanted to try a pure English breakfast, although dinner, served with Earl Grey, while John ordered a steak and the same drink as well. As soon as the waiter left, Ben cannot shut up about their trip. But John’s mind was set on another world. From where he is seated, he saw the table they used to get with Sherlock. He imagined how he eats his food while Sherlock does nothing, how he stares at his consulting detective while Sherlock stares outside waiting for the buyer, or negotiator, or the murderer to show up. Suddenly he felt a snap right into his face, and when he turned he saw Ben’s face, confused but smiling at him.

_How could be this man not the same man that I have been with fifteen years ago?_

After a long wait, their waiter finally shows up, putting their food in order. As they thanked him and the waiter turned back, two people cannot let their eyes off the table. They stared at the whole time, a few minutes they arrived, as they were escorted by their table. One of them finally launched and went directly to the table and called a name.

“John?”

John’s eyes widened. He didn’t need another call to realize who it was. His heart suddenly thumped faster, like a drum that never stops beating to reach the pace.

“G-Greg?” He turned around and stood up immediately, like a child getting caught of doing something forbidden. Ben too, started to get alarmed and called him, “John, what’s wrong?”

“Is this…” Greg cannot finish his sentence. John was utterly shocked by this turn of events. But what was more horrifying is the figure of the man behind the detective inspector, who carefully walked towards Greg, looking at John, then Ben.

“Pleasure meeting you and your companion here, Dr. Watson.”

John cannot speak a word as his voice creep into his veins like poison. Finally, the silence was broken, as the man reached his hand over to Ben, who is still in the middle of confusion.

“Pleasure to meet you. I am Mycroft Holmes, and this is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.” Ben took his hand to shake and continued to speak, “You seem to be having a lovely dinner with a nice company, Dr. Watson.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Dr. Watson? Dr. Watson?” Mycroft called John twice to drag him back into reality. The smaller doctor found himself dumbfounded on the worst possible scenario in his life. He is in company of his new friend Benedict Cumberbatch, the exact photocopy of Sherlock Holmes in terms of physical appearance, which is currently enjoying a whole-course of English breakfast in front of Sherlock’s brother Mycroft Holmes and his lover slash Scotland Yard detective inspector Greg Lestrade.

“B-Ben, these are my friends…” John finally mustered up some words in coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, hello.” Ben enthusiastically offered his hand for a shake again to Mycroft and Greg. “I am Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch, Department of Psychology, New England University.”

“I still cannot process this entirely.” Greg said, still staring at Ben in disbelief. “Myc, this is ridi-“

“We were sorry if we ruined your lovely dinner.” Mycroft apologized towards Ben.

“No, no, it’s okay. I would love to meet John’s friends.” Ben said with a smile.

“Oh, we’ve already finished.”

“But…” Greg protested.

“Come on love.” Mycroft commanded sternly, to which Greg followed. He still wanted to make everything clear. Mycroft then whispered on John’s ear. “You’ll be escorted at our chambers by a car I will send two hours from now. I assume that’s fair enough that he will leave and give us the time to explain this madness.” All John can do is look at his eyes and nod.

“Dr. Watson, Dr. Cumberbatch, we shall take our leave.”

“Pleasure is ours, Mr. Holmes, Detective.”

As they walked away from their table, John knew he will do a lot of explaining for this. He went back to his seat and stared at his food, boggled on what to do.

“I thought you never had friends John. I once guessed you were an introvert type. Boy, those friends of yours, an English police officer and a, what, high-end businessman? You do have connections.” Ben’s tone was amazed, as he took the last slice of pancake into his mouth.

“Friendships can be complicated.” John faked a smile.

“What’s wrong with you? You were good before those two showed up.”

“Nothing. It’s just I’ve never seen them a long time.” _Especially that cold hearted Holmes._

With that the topic about Mycroft and Greg stopped. Ben sensed John wanted to do that, so he went back blabbering about the totality of their trip.

Deciding to call it a day, Ben and John went to the tube together. John said to Ben, “I trust you know your way home?”

“Where are you going? Not going home too?”

“Gonna get some home supplies.”

“I can come with-“

“No, I’m good. Be safe.”

Ben left John standing on the street. As the taller man’s figured dissolved in the pool of English people, John turned around, and was not surprised on what he saw. In front of him is a black, luxury car, with the driver lowering the vehicle’s window. John knew what the next best step was. He entered the car, and the vehicle steered its way London’s busy streets.

  * \-----



John arrived to the Diogenes where he found himself standing in front of Mycroft Holmes’ large desk. The elder Holmes was sitting on his expensive office chair, like some kind of a member of the Royal Family. Greg was on the sofa, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. John broke the silence and cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the two other men in the room.

John took a deep breath. “I will finish this in one statement. The man you saw with me earlier is not Sherlock.” He made a clear emphasis on the last three words.

“Then who is it then?” Greg retorted back.

“He bloody introduced himself to you Greg. Do I need to explain his complicated name for you?” John’s tone is starting to rise, although he doesn’t even know what he is angry about. Maybe Greg’s judging tone, or their facial expressions which made John like a murderer standing on trial.

“Then why haven’t you mentioned him to me?! Hell John, I don’t know. Are we still even friends yet?!”

“Because I don’t want a high definition replay of seeing my best friend lying lifeless on the floor, skull crashed, blood in my hands, dying, just to save our bloody arses from Moriarty’s shotgun! Because every time I see the face of that man, who became my friend just recently, reminded me of Sherlock’s face! What would he may be if he was still fucking alive!” John was catching his breath as his devilish eyes looked directly to Greg.

“Enough!” Finally Mycroft has spoken. John didn’t have enough self control, so he exited the room, banging the door when closed. Greg took a breath heavily, running his fingers on his gray hair. Mycroft just stared at his desk, fingers crossed, leaning his chin on it.

“It wasn’t him Greg.” Mycroft began.

“You too, Myc?” Greg answered in disbelief. “You’ve bloody seen his face that was your brother! Alive and eating breakfast!”

Mycroft shook his head. “It was like another soul has taken over that body.”

“Oh where did you get that information? From that fucking handshake?!”

Mycroft was so angry that he finally stood up and shouted, “Well yes I know from a bloody hand shake because I raised him and every fiber of his being, I know!”

A moment of silence appeared. Then Mycroft started to cry, to which Greg attended to immediately.

“I… I wanted to embrace that stranger…” Greg now enveloped his arms around Mycroft’s head, leaning it on his chest. “…I miss that brat so much and I wanted to thank him for bringing his body alive… Seeing him smile I-“

“Shh shh… It’s okay.”

Greg continued to comfort Mycroft. He understood pretty well how that feels. Fuck, he is even one of the reasons why Sherlock was dead. It’s just that it is so unbelievable to see him smiling, shaking their hands with John in company. It was like seeing them back on the dining room of 221 B, Sherlock and John, solving cases.

The fire on the furnace started to go off. The cold wind blew. Longing tears still continued to pour out of the eyes of a man who suffered more than enough of losing his little brother.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now i tried writing in Ben's viewpoint. just a little experiment.
> 
> and yes sorry for updating so late. on the other hand, I finally graduated from college!!!! YAAAAAAAAAY!
> 
> ok back to the story

John looks to his phone one more time. It has been silent. It wasn’t like that three weeks since he stormed out of Mycroft’s office and yelled. Since that, Greg was bothering him with text messages, asking on what he is doing, or being too apologetic for what had happened. John did the opposite. He does not respond to any of them, and continued his everyday life. It has been like that for the past four months, but now John is free from the dinging to the heavy lifting of the gadget in his hands. He finds Greg’s stubbornness too tiresome.

John stood up from his office chair and grabbed an envelope. He was tasked to carry the new information on the psych study Ben has been working on. Ben chose him as the official biology consultant of the project. He is now on his way for this week’s results.

Unlike those of the primal days, John only needs to nod to Ben’s secretary to provide entry to his office. He is allowed to just storm in without any prior appointments. “He’s an exception.” Those were Ben’s words to his secretary which made him grin since he received this project. He has never felt so alive since. Since fifteen years…

As he dashed out, he found Ben on his chair, napping like an undisturbed child. Everything has been wild these days. Aside from this project, Ben is still the head of the psychology department and the principal wants to have the department expanded. These gave Ben a lot of stress and loaded paperwork. As John slowly tiptoed towards the desk, he admired the view of the blonde guy sleeping soundly, his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth, his breathing. All John did was to stare, as if waking him up is a grave sin.

_This couldn’t possibly be him, right?_

After that encounter with Greg and Mycroft, John did not seem to care with all those messages, but time after time, he still considers the fact that _maybe_ this man is Sherlock, pretending not to remember anything, playing with him until now. But every time he looks at the same eyes, he feels the innocence, the naivety of this man who wants to excel in his field. Truly, he is more promising than Sherlock, isn’t he?

Seconds walked around John still staring at the sleeping psychologist. Finally, Ben grumbled and caught John staring at him. John tried to avoid the gaze, as obviously his response, now handing the envelope immediately. Then he started the conversation casually, “Here are the documents, my lord. Is there anything you wish to obtain, Your Grace?”

Ben chuckled. “Funny British men.” Ben took it from his hands and threw them at his desk.

“You seem so stressed Ben. I hope it’s just work.” John positioned himself comfortably on a chair in front of Ben’s desk. Ben, however sighed deeply. Pulling out from his drawer, he placed two glasses on the desk, then grabbed a wine bottle underneath his chair.

John was stunned. “Drinking? In the middle of the day?”

Ben is now popping the bottle open and poured wine on each glass half-full. “I miss my family John.” He said, as he held one of the glasses dearly in his hand.

John now accepted the offer and picked the other glass. “Are the wife and child okay?”

“I entrusted them to my brother. Every time I call in the house, he’s the only one answering, saying that my wife is out, or is busy. I don’t know. Are they even having an affair? Will my child still recognize me when I come back? For a moment, I regretted coming here…” Ben gulped the content of the glass in one go, which is alarming for John.

“Stop thinking that way.” John took the glass away from him. But Ben looked at him with tears filling his eyes. “I’m so afraid John. I might lose them. I love Sophie and Christopher so much. That was the reason I left them with Rich. But what if, and they leave me? I can’t live with that. Please John, help me.”

“Hey, hey now.” John never thought Ben was this vulnerable when it comes to his family. He’s very outgoing and witty to others, but he chose John to see this fragility. That behind every smile is fear lurking, which gave proof to John that he loves them above most, and that this man could never be _him_. “Just calm yourself down, alright mate? You can leave early if you want, or you could take the rest of the hour to sleep. I’ll fill in for your next class. It’s just an exam right?” Ben replied with a weak nod. “Tonight, we’re going downtown, and I promise to share a secret with you.” Ben went back relaxing on his chair. John arranged the glasses and the wine bottle in place, to safely hide it at the back of his desk.

John didn’t know what he just said just to make Ben calm down. But a promise is a promise.

For tonight he will be back on the only place in London he is not ready to go.

  * \---



Benedict never understood the reason why every time he calls on the phone it’s his brother that picks it up. It has been four months since he started working in London, but it never occurred to him the possibility of his brother betraying him.

As he told John in their lunch meetings, since he was diagnosed and hospitalized with a brain injury, his brother never left him. He was always there to play with him or read books although he can play outside with friends or do some studying back at their house. Since their guardian died, his brother, Rich, was the only one who accompanied him to the doctor for a weekly exam and in every step of the recovery he was there. He was there when he got his license, when he married, carried the kid. He was even the one recommended for a neurosurgeon in London for Ben’s regular monthly check-up He trusted his brother so much.

“So in other words, you’re rich.” John commented, as Ben’s memory can remember.

“Not quite. You see, Rich is a businessman, and I’m a psychologist. We live in two different worlds so we don’t share our businesses with each other.”

“But you’re close?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a weird family.”

John still pried. “This injury of yours, does this still affect you today?”

“Well, every now and then I get headaches. At those times, I just feel a sudden blackout, then returning back a few seconds later. Remember our second general meeting and I spoke to update on the psych dept’s budget and I just stared at everybody? That’s it.”

“But the doctor said it’s normal?”

“For me yes…” Then the topic swiveled the other way.

But now Ben really wonders the amount of trust he gives his brother, due to this inappropriate action of not hearing his wife’s voice every time he contacts. Ben continued to rest on his chair, trying to bury this problems as he gulped another glass of wine.

  * \---



Ben’s now sober, thank God. John ensured they will have dinner first. It was surprising, him engaging the conversation, and Ben sitting there in silence. After that, they rode on the tube, Ben, quietly following John on the streets of London. John didn’t speak to him at all, he just lead the way. Ben kept staring at the cemented pavement until he realized there was a small staircase to which John ascended, a street light giving of a dimly lit light. As he raised his head, John was looking at him.

“It’s my old flat.” John said. “Dr. Cumberbatch, welcome to 221 Baker Street.”


	9. Chapter 9

The clicking of the keyhole felt home to John. It’s not luck that brought him and his psychologist friend back to the familiar staircase of the 221 Baker Street, for he still has a spare key kept in his possession. As he opened the door, images kept rushing inside his head. On that wall where he and Sherlock shared their first laugh, on that staircase they crept when they were hung-over, on that kitchen where they consoled Mrs. Hudson. They just kept flooding on his memories, along with fear.

As he stepped inside the house, John immediately recognized his former landlady was away. Based on the light he can see emerging from inside the room, and the layering dust left alone on the floor, which to Mrs. Hudson is “offending” to the whole flat.

Ben quietly followed John as he ascended the staircase. Then he tried asking as he ascended the stairs, “John, are you sure it’s okay to…” But when John reached the door marked with a ‘221B’, he stopped talking. As John braced himself to open the door, a dusty yet clean room greeted him welcome. He studied every corner of the room. _No one lives here._ He surveyed the entire room like a child wandering in a zoo. Everything was still in place, except for the piles of documents stacked on the floor, the crazy specimens on the dining table, the books well arranged on the shelf. It was his ideal picture of the flat, unlike those days with Sherlock. But, the two sofas facing each other were there. The deer head was still there. The furnace was still there. The shots on the wall are still there. Everything that made John feel home was there.

Except for his best friend.

“John.” His companion called, which pulled John back again to reality.

“Ben, sorry. Got hit by nostalgia.” He answered, as his hands strolled the dust on his former desk.

“Tell me why are we here.”

“Fifteen years ago this was my home.” He looked at Ben. “Before I went to my boring job, I was an assistant to my flatmate, which was a consulting detective.” John signaled Ben to sit on the sofa. He then followed.

Ben looked puzzled. “You were police?”

“No. Not of that sort.” John chuckled. “My flatmate was the only consulting detective in the world. The first of his profession. He invented it, basically.”

Ben looked at him seriously. John continued.

“We had a lot of adventures. We surveyed the entire London for criminals, sometimes even putting our lives on the line to catch a culprit. This was my life before… before my best friend died.”

“I’m so sorry John.”

“The point is, we have every downfall in our lives. But look at me, I lost the only person who took me as the person I wanted to be. I wanted danger, and that’s what my friend has given me. It was his gift. But when he died, I still tried to move on, carrying those memories, the gift to continue living and to survive every single day without him. It’s the same for you. If your wife and brother really admitted to a sin towards you, you need to accept it, then let go. The world continues to revolve without them in your life. That’s the point of living.”

Ben carefully looked into John’s eyes as he heard every single word he uttered. Finally a smile was drawn on his face, leaning against the backrest of the sofa.

“Oh John Watson, a good poet.” John replied with a giggle.

“So this friend of yours, you must love him very much.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

John stood up and told Ben “I’ll just check my former bedroom, then we can go home.”  Ben replied with a nod.

Now Ben was all alone in the living room, admiring the Victorian interior design of the flat. He was intrigued by the bullet holes on the wall.

_What kind of person would do this? And was it John who did this or his friend?_

Then his eyes caught a little figure resting above the furnace and observed it.

 _A human skull?_ Ben has been fascinated by the human skull, which, aside from being the main structure that shapes a living organism's face, it is also the casing that holds his most favorite organ, the brain. He doesn't know the real reason, but since he was able to understand his neural condition, he became intrigued with it. He took it in his hand and examined it carefully when suddenly he felt a jolt of electricity in his brain. He felt kind of electrocuted, and dropped the skull on the floor giving off a loud thud. John immediately hurried to his rescue.

“What was that?” John asked and found the skull lying on the floor.

“Nothing. I just dropped something that wasn’t mine.” John picked up the skull and returned it to its rightful place.

“Let’s go, shall we?” John asked and Ben nodded.

The next day, Ben didn’t show up at the office. As John was in the middle of one of his classes, he received a message from Ben.

_Can’t work today. Heavy migraine. Carry on with your duties, soldier._

John smiled, but he can’t avoid to worry.

 _Was everything I did last night alright to him?_ Returning to his class, John continued teaching after the immediate ditraction.

Meanwhile, on his bed, Ben was very uncomfortable, his hands are hardly wrapped around his head like a fortune teller with a crystal ball, the content of a bottle of painkillers are spread on the floor. Ben wished the pain would stop in his head but it won’t.

_Stop it! I can’t take it anymore! It hurts, help me!_

His phone sprouted a message alert, it was John. He was not able to read it but it said.

_I’m sorry I tired you last night. Dinner tonight mate? My treat. JW_

But it was left unread, for Ben wants this pain to stop at this very moment.

_Please, make it stop._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter's kinda lengthy, but to celebrate me graduating, here's to all of you!

A week passed that John hasn’t seen Ben. Everything was quiet, there wasn’t anyone bugging him. But he quite missed the all around questioning, the loud laughs, the smile of his psychologist. In the evening, John was surfing the internet when he thought of visiting his old personal blog, to which he wrote the antics and adventures he shared with Sherlock Holmes. Everything was still there, the _Speckled Blonde,_ the _Geek Interpreter_ , the _Hound of Baskerville_ , and of course his favorite, _A Study in Pink_. It was like reliving every moment upon reading each word.

His hand took grip of his phone and he read the last message he sent to Ben.

_I’m sorry I tired you last night. Dinner tonight mate? My treat. JW_

Then he received a ping and read the text message. It was from a colleague in the biology department.

_Tomorrow’s the principal’s birthday. Get to the office early cause everyone’s planning something._

John sighed. _Oh great, I need to please everyone again with fake smiles._

He turned his desk light off, then dozed off to sleep.

  * \---



John was walking up the sidewalk nearing the school, not minding the rushing students in front and behind him, all smiling, laughing, and talking aloud, no burdens at all. Suddenly he felt a weight on his shoulder and heard a loud and harsh breathing.

“Sh-“ But he was stopped when the person looked at him smiling. “Ben!”

“Heyo, mate!” He replied, in a crooked British accent. John smiled back. “So what chaos appeared here when I was gone?”

“Nothing much. Except it’s the principal’s birthday today.”

“B-Birthday?! Oh damn, I forgot to get him a courtesy gift.” They now arrived at the building.

“I didn’t get him anything.” John answered.

“That’s what I like about you John Watson, you are able to be “uncaring” smoothly.”

“Thanks for the complement.”

Now both of them arrived at the staircase of the floor where the John’s department is situated, and Ben’s is on the next.

“Ben, I’m sorry for putting you up on that trip to Baker Street. It’s just you’re the only friend I can talk to with that. I don’t want to worsen your feelings. I-“

Ben took hold of John’s shoulders, his glazed eyes looking straightforward to John. “John, it’s cool. You don’t have to worry. In fact, it made me feel better. Thanks.”

The school bell rang. Ben started to walk up the stairs and left John saying “See you at the lounge later.”

And John never felt any more relieved.

  * \---



When Ben arrived at the lounge, John was already there along with his biology colleagues. Everyone was wearing a children’s party hat. Then all of them sang happy birthday to the bald principal who was enjoying himself in the presence of his workmates. At the middle of celebrating, John was on the window looking outside and Ben immediately walked upon him. Then they talked about everything else, what Ben missed, the project, the school.

“So are you alright now, Ben?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Well I had contact with my trusted colleague in Brooklyn. I asked him to pay a visit to our house and you know, investigated a bit.”

“And?”

“I was relieved John. He observed nothing of sorts. I was worried for nothing.”

“Great. That’s great to hear.”

They continued eating when the principal arrived in front of them.

“Hey, thank you so much for this. It’s wonderful!” the principal chuckled. John gave off an awkward laugh, which Ben sensed and replied for the both of them. “Yes it’s nice principal! I’ve never even known you’ve aged!” Then the trio laughed.

“I’m gonna throw a party for the whole teaching staff tonight at the pub. You have to go there, alright mates?” John and Ben looked at each other and then both nodded.

“Yes, you’ll be expecting us down there, Sir.” Then the both of them giggled.

“Well, we better get to drink as many as we can because we’ll be spending the old man’s pounds.” John said.

“Yes, we’ll drown ourselves in liquor, mate!” Ben answered in a mockingly British accent.

  * \---



The loud bass of the pub’s speakers were ringing on everyone’s ears. Everybody else seems to enjoy the music. The teachers became party-goers, and Ben and John were on the bar counter, enjoying themselves with drinks. It was now a quarter before 11 PM, and both men are getting groggy.

“John!” Ben shouted to get his friend’s attention. “I’m drunk!”

John laughed loudly. “You know, you’re the only one that admits being drunk, and still drinks.”

Ben raised a glass. “To our fucking problems!” John replied with the same sentence. Then both of them drank the shot.

“You know what…” Ben started talking again. “That stupid friend of yours should’ve not died! Look at what it did to you!”

“What?! What did it did to me?”

“You became miserable my friend! You should’ve been a criminal fighting hero in London’s streets! That would be awesome!”

“Yeah, well that’s not the case.”

“But you know John, you have me now! Give me the word and I’ll be the one to accompany you fighting bad British guys! Say the word and I’ll be that what you call that consulting…”

“Consulting detec-“

“…consulting detective yes!” I’ll be, what was his name again?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock Holmes! Hey everybody, I’m Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, 221 B Baker Street! Wooooooh!”

Ben shouted all those words in front of all the people who shouted back. John laughed hysterically and then he looked at his friend, whose joy was very evident in his smiles. It was all he needed, aside from this grogginess that he is feeling, a great joy filled him, seeing his friend supporting him.

But who was this friend with him tonight? _Benedict Cumberbatch, psychologist_ , _workmate, American, blonde, has a wife and a kid, has recovered from a brain injury in his childhood. Or was it Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, British, married to his work, high functioning sociopath._

But tonight John decided it didn’t even matter. He was in a company of a friend. And whether it is Ben or Sherlock he doesn’t care, at all. Because his heart’s desire tonight is to be with the one he desires the most.

Now Ben calmed himself and ordered another two shots and looked at John, whom he realized that was been looking at him for quite a long time now. Without a warning, John grabbed Ben’s neck with his right hand, catching Ben off guard as John pulled him in a deep kiss. Ben just let John do it; he didn’t pull away or deepen it. He just waited for John to stop. And when he did, Ben just stared at him, in a state of shock.

“J-John, what was that?”

“I-I’m s-sorry, I…”

“I- I need to go.”

Ben felt sober immediately when he got up. He heard John calling his name a few times but he never looked back. John on the other hand, was left with his lingering feelings, and the mistake sinking in.

  * \---



As Ben strode outside the pub, awaiting for a cab, he felt something lurking behind him. Finally he looked back and a figure emerged.

“Hello?” Ben can’t clearly see him but he was sure it was a man.

“It’s been a while, detective.” The figure started talking. “Do you still remember me?”

The figure stepped into the light but Ben cannot still recognize him.

“You’re wrong man, I’m not a detective. I’m a teacher.”

“Fool me once, you win. Fool me twice, you lose.”

“I really don’t know what-“

But the figure immediately grabbed a gun and shot him.

Now Ben didn’t feel anything. He still saw the man smiling at him and then running away from him. Then he saw and felt the blood running in his chest, then the bullet hole emerging from it. Then he felt something unmistakable on his brain and he heard a voice.

_Forwards or backwards?_

Then his body dropped on the cemented floor.

Meanwhile John was feeling so guilty he decided to follow Ben. Emerging from the pub’s door, his eyes searched for his friend and figured he was too late.

 _How would I face him tomorrow_?

As he took a step towards back to the pub, he heard a low grunting voice at the sidewalk. He suddenly sobered up when he realized it was Ben lying on the floor.

“Ben! Ben!” He immediately rushed to his side, finding him in a bleeding state, breathing weakly. “Hey, hey, it’s me John. It’s gonna be okay. I’m just gonna put pressure here and I-“ Now John was panicking. Then he felt a grip on his arm and heard his bleeding friend speak.

“John…” He said in a voice that John felt very familiar. The only voice that would make every wrong in his life right. “I don’t... want to die... outside a... pub. Help.” Then his grip loosened, losing consciousness.

John’s eyes widened. He felt uneasiness like he have never felt before. But he was sure he is here. He has returned to him, in his arms, bloody but alive.

_Sherlock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very proud of this chapter. hahahaha!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i changed the major tags of this story because, men, I really want to have a JohnLock smut written so please pardon me... T_T
> 
> If any of you readers do not wish so, please read up until the paragraph starting with the words "John couldn't help himself", then press ctrl + F, then type "Both of them were panting"
> 
> To those who loves smut like me, enjoy the whole chapter!

To John’s memory, the events that occurred the night before Sherlock’s “fall” from Bart’s rooftop are clearly instilled.

Of course, why would he forget the first time he realized that he is deeply in love with his flatmate?

They were in the middle of a crisis, the verdict of Jim Moriarty has been casted down, the criminal mastermind has already paid Sherlock a visit, his false accusation of Sherlock planning the whole kidnap scenario of the British Ambassador’s children, and the alluring public media is still on standby at the entrance of the flat. But as the night went by, the skies were clear, the stars were shining bright, and John just got home from buying Chinese food, securing a secret passageway at the back of the building and through Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.

Upon ascending to the flat, the surroundings were dead silent. Carrying the food carefully in his hands, John snapped the unlocked door open and called out for his partner.

“Sherlock! Dinner’s here. You know, I was clearly on the roll today. There were no reporters or stalkers. It’s just a normal strolling.” John was placing the food at the dining table, and carefully sweeping some of the specimens on the side then continued, “Stop fidgeting with your problems and come here to eat. Sherlock!” he called once again but there was no response. Finally he decided to look for him and came to his room. Without knocking John sprang the door open and found Sherlock on the floor lying, paleness on his face evident, as well as two syringes on the floor lying.

“My God Sherlock! Are you really that insane?!” John panicked and ran to him, observing the two wounds on his right arm. John repeatedly called out for him while slapping his face for consciousness. Finally he was awake.

“Mhmm… John… Mmm… came back?” he said in an inaudible response.

“Are you crazy?! I just went outside for an hour! You promised me to keep being clean, during and after all this. Why?! Why do you keep breaking your words to me?!”

Sherlock is trying to stand up. Weakly, he leaned his back on one side of the bed, looking down shamelessly, and never once met John’s eyes. Silence fell to both men but it was evident, John’s anger and Sherlock’s humiliation. Finally Sherlock started to speak.

“I… can’t…” John now looked at him, sensing the start of a burst of emotions. “I can’t take this anymore John.”

“Sher…lock.”

Sherlock is now hugging his knees, his entire body shaking. “I’m afraid John. I’ve never… felt scared like this.” John can’t help but just stare to the man doing his confession. Now Sherlock is looking at his bare hands, still shaking, tears pouring down his eyes. “Fear is eating me up inside, in reality, in my mind, in my entire being, fear is everywhere. It’s starting to devour me John. H-help me. Please… Someone… save me.”

John never once saw in his entire duration of living with Sherlock this fragility. Everyone should be afraid, less alone the one being targeted. Sherlock always put a fierce and firm stand against this battle, and never allowed himself to be defeated by the emotions that he abhorred.

Yet now here he is, all being human in front of the only person he trusts in the world, in front of John. Without any thought, John engulfed the weeping figure in his arms, embracing the surge of emotions. Because he will never see Sherlock like this again. He, for sure will never see Sherlock being human again. For tomorrow he will be putting back the mask of fearlessness. But at this very moment he took it off, and chose John to be the only audience.

John couldn’t help himself but to kiss his detective’s dark curls then taking his face onto him. “Sherlock, look at me.” To which the taller man complied. “It’s alright to be afraid. It means you’re human. But don’t let it eat you alive. I’m here, your only blogger. We’ll get through this…” John smiled at him. “The next thing you know, maybe we’ll be back at the morgue again slapping bodies, taking over the stupid cases of the Yard, laugh at Anderson, and everything will pass. Just the two of us, against him, against the rest of the world.”

Sherlock just stared at him, evident awe in his eyes, tears still flowing down with no reason at all. John drew himself closer to Sherlock and finally kissed him. Deepening the kiss, both men kindly submitted to their lingering emotions, to their hidden desires. John wanted this, to be Sherlock’s, and Sherlock wanted to be his. Stripping off Sherlock’s dressing gown, John continued to explore Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, pressing gentle kisses, hands travelling on the bare torso of his best friend, like a child wandering in the deep forest. Sherlock on the other hand, could not help but to moan at the touch of his army doctor. He felt every kiss, every touch, registering everything to his mind palace.

As they lingered to bed, John kissed Sherlock’s chest and his hands went on Sherlock’s thighs, which are still covered in his pajamas. Then he went back kissing Sherlock on his lips, then ravishing his tongue. At every groan Sherlock lets out, John would respond in admiration.

_This is the man I have fallen for._

Sherlock touched John’s face and placed his forehead on his, hot breath emerging from his mouth and nose and said “John…”

“Be human, for me, Sherlock.”

“For you John. For you, I will.”

John never held back, as he swept down Sherlock’s pajamas, leaving the honorable detective in his bare, naked body, to which John adored and never imagined to experience.

Sherlock stood up, flipping John, which is now lying on his bed. He focused on taking off John’s jeans and underwear, and John, brain heavy-filled with lust, obliged to take off his “ridiculous” sweaters. The showing scar that John was always ashamed of was adored by Sherlock, along with his whole being. His army doctor, his colleague, his flatmate, his partner, his best friend, his John.

Sliding off their erections, both of them continued to moan, Sherlock worshipping John as lust filled their bodies and minds.

“Sh-Sherlock may I…” As John motioned for Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock responded by a nod. John engulfed Sherlock’s cock into his mouth, licking the underside and the head of his penis. John never felt so aroused, and unable to picture how he became so lusted he is willing to have Sherlock’s cock all night, which is still getting bigger at his mouth. Sherlock was as the verge of orgasm, when John stopped and went back kissing his detective’s mouth. Sherlock tasted his precum on John’s mouth.

Sherlock then made John positioned in all fours, licking John’s puckering hole, which is quivering to have his cock inside him. John shouted aloud as Sherlock’s tongue darted in and out of him. John’s arse was so delicious to Sherlock. Then Sherlock sat up and made John sit on his lap. Grabbing the lube in his drawer, he handed it to John and ordered him to lube Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock then again moaned as he felt the cold liquid accompanying John’s skillful hand as it went up and down his shaft.

“Sherlock, I want to be yours.”

“John, I will always be.”

With those words John lowered himself to Sherlock, gloriously receiving his cock up in his arse. Sherlock thrusted gently and as the paced built up, John met with him. It felt amazing, Sherlock Holmes, respected consulting detective was fucking his best friend John Watson, a former army doctor. But titles and the past do not matter for two people becoming one in this peaceful night.

“You feel amazing John.”

“Shut up and fuck me Sherlock, harder and deeper!”

John continued kissing Sherlock’s sexy neck as he continued pounding him. John arched his back, nearing orgasm.

“Sh-Sherlock, I’m going to…”

“Let’s cum together, John.”

And with that both Sherlock and John moaned the loudest, as white semen spilled on Sherlock’s abdomen, and hot liquid spurting from Sherlock’s cock, lubing John’s arse up with cum.

Both of them were panting, but laughing, as Sherlock pulled out of John, and John now lying beside Sherlock.

“John… I don’t know what to say.”

But John just silenced Sherlock with a kiss on his mouth.

“Please rest for now, Sherlock.” And John kissed him again on his hair. Sherlock dozed off in a peaceful sleep. But John regretted one thing that he was too late to do, and that is to tell Sherlock how he truly loved him.

After that night, John found himself alone in Sherlock’s bed. He tried to contact him but he doesn’t answer. And then everything happened. John then knew that it was Mycroft that gave Moriarty access to Sherlock’s records. Then upon finding Sherlock at Bart’s and not leaving upon hearing Mrs. Hudson being shot, anger surged to him and accusing Sherlock of being a machine that is not capable of caring. And then finding himself carrying his phone on his ear, hearing all of Sherlock’s suicide note to him, as well as all the lies that he allowed Sherlock to tell him. He never begged to the extremities, but he is willing to do so, marching from hell and back just to see Sherlock, living, breathing, with him.

But all was too late.

Seeing Sherlock’s cracked skull, with his blood painting the pavement, John felt nothing. Words came out of his mouth but he felt nothing. Just the image of Sherlock, in front of him, dead.

Fifteen years, and John lead a life, a duller boring life. But this, this thing happening at this very instant is neither a dream nor an imagination.

Because with him, inside a moving cab, was his new friend, Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch, who in a very unexplainable manner, is also Sherlock Holmes. Well, perhaps, it’s what he believes. He may be wrong once again, just like when he first met him at the general faculty meeting. But he is willing to be mistaken again, and will gamble every hope he has in his hands.

He engulfed his friend with an arm, the other still applying pressure to his wounded chest. Blood still continues to stain him, but his friend is still breathing, although erratically.

_I will not hand you back to death. He will have me first._

He later realized his tears pooling, then they finally fell. John kissed the blonde hair that his friend owned, a thing he never expected to do so, again.


	12. Chapter 12

Psychologist Benedict Cumberbatch has been always at death’s tongue tip since he was diagnosed with an unexplainable brain condition. In fact, it was the reason why he pursued psychology as a degree, because he believes that the brain itself is an enigma.

He has read a lot of things regarding the brain’s function, even during the transitional stages from having life to submitting to death. Most of them, according to accounts, experience a transcendental imagery of the most important memories of a person’s life, or a sort of immediate “flashbacks”. However, he did not believed this, not because he is a scientist, but also he has been several times on the brink of death as well.

Tonight was not the case.

Because Ben, since he saw a fast hot bullet tearing up his right chest, he didn’t feel anything, rather, his body immediately responded to the question posed by his brain at that millisecond he was about to fall.

_Forwards or backwards?_

“What?”

_In what direction should we fall to minimize blood loss?_

“We?”

_Don’t be an idiot! Feel it! Is there an exit wound?_

“No, no exit wound.”

_Good. In this manner, gravity will be the only savior we’ve got._

“Who are you?”

_Fall, now!_

He was pretty sure he was talking to his brain, hearing his voice speaking to him, but sounded quite oddly. And Ben was quite happy not feeling any pain, nor having any memory after falling down.

He could never remember those written articles and published journals, but was there something about random imagery?

Because he regained consciousness, finding himself alone, standing on a room with endless darkness. He tried to speak but he cannot hear his own voice. Call him crazy, but he was sure he heard running footsteps behind him. Fear is slowly crawling up his spine. He wanted to shout but he can’t. Then he heard a familiar voice.

_The police don’t consult with amateurs!_

The voice echoed. He followed the direction that the voice emerged.

_There are lives at stake– actual human lives!_

That voice.

_You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool._

He could never be mistaken.

_Leave a note when?_

John.

_Sherlock!_

  * \---



The continual decrease of breathing rate made John realize on what fate his friend might end up with. With all the professional composure John tried to muster up, he carefully assisted Ben on the bed that the emergency personnel from the hospital prepared, he updated all of his vital signs as he was being transported from the cab through the hospital’s hallway. As the emergency cart proceeded, he heard Ben’s weakening voice.

“J-John. John. J-”

“Hey, hey mate. I’m here. We’re at the hospital now. You’ll be fine, alright?”

“J-John… John…”

“I’m here.”

John was then stopped by one of the attending emergency personnel as Ben was rushed inside the operating room. Without any thought, John brushed his hands past his hair, not minding the blood staining his hands. John felt lost at the moment. All he unconsciously did was to sit on the bare floor, looking down as his bloodstained hands, tears falling one by one.

_Will it be too late, again?_

  * \---



British Elite Mycroft Holmes looked awfully distressed as he was scanning a few stacks of documents on his small table inside his large room.

“Myc, stop worrying about that too much.” A voice emerged from his elegant king-sized bed.

“Give me one good reason to stop worrying about this matter, Gregory.”

“Calling me Gregory, you’re getting mad.” Greg stood up from the bed and went towards Mycroft, smiling ravenously, as he approached the older Holmes and started kissing his neck. “Come to bed, love.”

“But… We need to tell John.”

“John is still obviously angry about our stunt. We’ll find the right time.”

To Mycroft, Greg’s voice is an enchantment. He always gets enticed by his sweet words, although he personally admits he is not a romanticist. But he loves the detective inspector so much he can’t deny he wants him.

As Mycroft starts to feel the sensations on his neck, Greg’s phone rang.

“Hang on.” As Greg slipped his phone out of his pocket. A shock was drawn on Greg’s face, as he looked confusingly first at Mycroft then back to the name of the caller.

“Hello, John?”

Mycroft stood up from his chair, waiting for Greg’s next words. But Greg was answered by silence on the other line.

“John?” He called his name again.

“I don’t know… what to do…”

“Wh-What’s the problem?”

“Sh-Sherlock…”

“What?!”

“I… I think he’s going to die… again, with me as witness… Help.”

Greg could sense the helplessness in John’s voice. And the fact that he just said ‘Sherlock’ was completely astonishing to hear.

“Hold on. We’ll be right there. Tell me where you are.”

Mycroft just nodded and went straight to his garage, Greg trailing him. Both of them hurrying as much as they can to attend to this news.

Back at Mycroft’s desk was a photograph of a man staring blankly on the deserted space. He was Benedict Cumberbatch, a man born in England but was raised on the United States. He was a psychologist originally from Florida, currently residing in Brooklyn with a wife, and a three year old baby boy. 

Every piece of information was printed on a sheet of paper, including an attached death certificate with it.


	13. Chapter 13

John was so sure of himself that he was a man of emotions. For example, if he gets really angry, he smiles to the person he is angry with, while forming a fist with his hands. In his previous blog wherein he documented his adventures with Sherlock, he read a comment from an anonymous viewer saying, “…So basically Mr. Holmes is the brain, and you Dr. Watson, is the heart.” He was quite pleased with these words. He just felt empty twice, first when he thought he will be alone after going back to Afghanistan, and the other, was when he saw Sherlock’s fall.

However, it seems that his list will be added up with this event.

Because he was sitting still, at the corner near the entrance of the operating room, red light still on. He has been still, for almost an hour now with no update on the surgery in progress, Ben’s voice calling his name still echoing in his ears. He has still his phone in his hands, weakly gripping on it. He had no other choice but to call Greg because he can’t bare this all alone.

_It’s my entire fault._

John heard rushing footsteps, but he didn’t mind them. Finally, he felt on his shoulders a touch, and when he looked up it was Greg.

“John.” John just blankly looked at him.

“John, where is Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, still catching his breath.

“I-“ He was about to say something when the door of the operating room opened. The three men all turned their attention to the doctor, who immediately asked “Who is the immediate family?” John was about to open his mouth to speak when Mycroft declared, “I am! I am his brother!” with no hesitation at all, a tone of worry evident on his words.

“The patient suffered a gunshot in his right chest. Due to the bullet wound, a large amount of blood was lost from him, I guess when he was transported here…”

John bitterly looked down.

“…Also, there was some damage on the major arterial system which primarily functions as the blood passageway. Without them blood cannot flow properly and a limited amount of oxygen can be delivered. He is now in a...”

“Comatose state.” Mycroft ended the doctor’s explanation.

“We are doing our best for him to survive.” With those words and a pat on Mycroft’s shoulder, the doctor left.

“Myc…” Greg tried to console Mycroft when he suddenly grabbed John’s arm, towards the hospital entrance without a warning, to which John obeyed, like a child being grabbed by his mother. Greg was so sure that the next thing that will happen will not be good.

As the three men exited the hospital, Mycroft suddenly tossed John on the floor and John grunted. Then the older Holmes held the collar of John’s bloodstained shirt throwing a punch on his face, then another, and another. Every throw filled with anger and frustration. Greg tried to stop him, but he didn’t.

Mycroft held John on his collar with his two hands. “Oh, Doctor, it’s you again! In every demise Sherlock is in you are there! Why is that?!” He threw another punch.

“Several times he has saved your life, and what did you do?! You are always a witness as he steps on the tip of death! Why?!”

John just looked at him with a blank stare, registering every word Mycroft screamed at him. He understood him very well, after all, he also knows he should be blamed for everything.

_If I haven’t left him that day at Bart’s and told him he was a machine, would things change?_

_If I didn’t obey his command to stay back as I looked at him attempting to jump from the rooftop, would things change?_

_If I didn’t recognize him that day on the faculty meeting, would things change?_

_If I didn’t kiss him last night and just stayed as his friend, would things change?_

_If I hadn’t met him, at all, would things change?_

Then he felt something on his shoulders. As he was pulled back to reality, he saw Mycroft on top of him, releasing his collar from his hand slowly, tears rolling down his face, and started crying.

“My brother… my little brother…”

Greg assisted Mycroft away from John and told him, “That’s enough Myc. Let’s get inside.” As Greg lead Mycroft back inside, he turned to John, who cannot look at him straight.

Again, John was left all alone, with every pain, both physical and emotional, inflicted on him.

  * \---



“Sir, we’ve got a situation.”

“Proceed.”

“The psychologist…”

“Hmm.”

“Sorry sir. Your psychologist. There was an update about him.”

“And?”

“He is currently confined at the London Central Hospital. In a comatose state, shot in the right chest by an unknown man. The army doctor was with him, although there were reports that the DI Yarder, and the Iceman are on their way.”

“And this man, is he one of our own?”

“A former. After his capture by the consulting detective, he was disavowed by the organization.”

“Good. Is he here? Bring him here.”

The conversation of the two men inside a dark room echoed to all the people outside the abandoned building that are guarding the area. Two men brought him the blindfolded disavowed fellow, who was spotted near the pub to which a lot of people have been going to lately.

“My goodness, I remember you. You were a former agent of that Chinese woman, what was it? Uhm, I think it was Lotus something.” He finally took the blindfold off from him.

“S-Sir. Please, spare my life.”

“Uh oh. You see, you just interrupted one of my live broadcasts. Everything was according to plan until a glitch in my monitor appeared. As a producer slash director, I can’t allow a good-running show be interrupted by glitches right?”

“But it was him sir! I know you wanted him dead! He was your ri-“

Suddenly the man took a 32-caliber gun and shot the captured fellow on the head three times, gunshot echoing once again throughout the whole building. He looked at the now dead body as he made a worrying face.

“Oh bloody great.” He said as he wiped some of the blood that now stained his suit. “Should I get another Westwood?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys sorry for the late update, again.
> 
> to avoid confusion, let's call the comatose fellow, Ben.

Loyalty to Sherlock Holmes will always define John Watson.

Since that night when John first saw Mycroft’s human side, his aching jaw is the price he paid receiving those punches, as well as his tears. However, despite of John’s deformed face, he never once left Ben alone at the hospital bed. Either he will be his all-day guardian, or if Mycroft comes, which is always of the same time frame for the last three days, he will avoid the British government official and stays on the lounge until he leaves.

When John stays on Ben’s room, he tends to his patient’s needs, although he’s not used to being a guardian because he is well, a doctor. In his free time, he just surfs the web through his laptop, the symphony of machine beeps are the only sounds he hears, aside from his breathing, and Ben’s.

On the fourth day, Mycroft visits the room in usual time. Figuring that there was no one on the room as he checked, he entered the room without hesitations, and sat on his usual chair on the bedside. As he was about to switch his laptop on, the door of the bathroom near one corner of the room suddenly opened, and John’s eyes were filled with terror when he saw someone.

“My-Mycroft. I-“

“Sit down, Doctor.”

“No, maybe I should…”

“Sit, John, please.”

And John did. He always wondered about the voice of the Holmes’ brothers, always authoritative and in any manner, firm.

Mycroft now grabs another chair and seated on it, his umbrella resting on the corner near the bathroom where he just came out. He just stared at the sleeping patient, and John on the other hand, hesistant.

“Listen, Mycroft.” John finally started. “I-“

“Your bruises seem to heal fine, and fast.” Mycroft immediately cut him, eyes still directly to Ben. “I should be the one apologizing John. I allowed myself to get eroded with emotions. I seemed to have, as what teenagers say today, lost my cool.”

“You have every right to.” John immediately responded, his eyes now looking down at his lap. “I mean, everything you said were true. I always put Sherlock in danger, contrary to everybody believes.”

“You both put your lives on the line for each other. It what makes this so-called bond, say, unique.” Mycroft answered. Then silence fell once again.

“When we were young, I never for once cared about Sherlock, since he grew up not caring about me too. Runs in the family.” Mycroft told John, who now seemed to be enticed by these words. “The first time I saw my brother lying like this was he had a fever that his temperature has not gone down in almost three days. He was so helpless John, that in any moment I could end him by strangling. But I never did feel that emotion. I felt remorse towards him, and every night I was on his bedside, pretending to be asleep so that our mother would not send me back home. In every syringe I see the nurse injects in Sherlock’s tube, or every pill he takes, I asked, and then confirmed if the medicine is really to cure him. Care, inevitably runs in our blood, although we pretend we don’t. I tell you John, he did what he did that day on the rooftop because he cared, and whether or not this man in front of us is my brother, know this, that Sherlock will always care, especially if it’s you.” With that, Mycroft’s story ended, leaving John bemused.

Mycroft immediately stood up, and grabbed his umbrella. Approaching the door, he took something out of his coat pocket, and handed it to John who also immediately stood up and received it.

“You thought you were the only one keeping a blog entry.” Mycroft said as John looked at a pocket notebook.

“And this is?”

“Sherlock’s. It was his notebook of ‘deleted entries’. I’m sure he has told you about this. It rightfully belongs to you as of now.” John looked back at Mycroft, who for the first time this day, looked back at him directly. “Let’s just hope he wakes.”

“Of course, he will. I will make him. I promise.” John spoke.

Mycroft nodded and exited the room.

Now, in John’s hands, is Sherlock’s “deleted entries”. As he heard those words, Sherlock’s explanation resonated throughout his head.

_My brain’s like a hard drive, John, and it has limitations in terms of space. Sometimes to earn space, one must delete. To store more information, I delete some important ones, and this notebook will be its temporary “flash drive”._

John remembered the reason why he can’t see its contents.

_Bias, John. Don’t be stupid._

As John flipped the pages in a fast manner, he noticed a lot of torn pages. And the handwriting’s Sherlock’s: messy yet elegant strokes. He wondered if he can read the contents, finally. He finally gave in to temptation, and opened a random page.

_July 24 th, 2006_

_Divergent Boundaries occur at Oceanic Ridges, where new Oceanic_ _lithosphere_ _is formed and moves away from the ridge in opposite directions. Continental rifting may create a new divergent margin and evolve into an oceanic_ _ridge, such as is occurring in East Africa and between the African Plate and the Arabian Plate._

Then he flipped another.

_April 10 th , 2009_

_Before the existence of Han Dynasty which was from 403 BC onward, seven kingdoms constituted the ruling. In 221 BC, a radical change occurred in Chinese politics: the kingdom of Qin succeeded in eliminating the power of its six rivals and established a single rule. Qin empire maintained by oppressive methods and the rigorous enforcement. Gaozu’s government- adopted the organs of government, and possibly many of the methods._

Reading the content was like reading through what Sherlock’s brain is operating. Every word of these entries he had in his head, and put it here to store new information. _This man, what more could be amazing?_ He thought, grinning to himself.

He flipped another.

_February 15 th, 2010_

_Tobacco ash, as the residue_

Then it was discontinued. He proceeded to the next page, which he found out was a continuation of the same entry.

_Brain out of focus. Flat mate blabbering about untidiness of the living room, but still tolerable._

John cannot stifle a laugh. This was his second month living with Sherlock.

_May 1 st, 2011_

_Tobacco, being a major export products in some tropical countries…_

_I want John to shut his mouth up. Having him here is exhilarating._

As John scanned on and on, he found out that this notebook of “deleted entries” became Sherlock’s journal, a diary of sorts. And it all started when John appeared into his life.

Curiosity finally killed the cat, and John as much as John wanted to read everything, he was very interested on the last entries.

  _January 6 th, 2012_

_Sex. John and I had sex. Has the highest probability that this was the happiest of my life. John, my John._

_I never said it to him, but I love him._

_January 7 th, 2012_

_Moriarty sent a text. John left for Mrs. Hudson. I am alone here at Bart’s laboratory. Must get to rooftop to save everybody, including John. Because John’s life is more important than mine. I love him, and this is the only thing I can do for him, for everything he has done._

The following pages were now blank. That was the last of Sherlock’s penmanship, which as of this moment is most precious to John. He looked at Ben, now realizing his face was wet with tears.

“Please, finish this entry, this fucking journal or what do you call it!” He pleaded the breathing figure. “Please, I want to hear it from your mouth, those words. I will listen to everything you say. Please, come back to me. Please.”

And with those words John wept on Ben’s chest, which swayed with the melody of the machines, heaving up and down.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've waited for this moment, and so have you my dear readers!
> 
> Sorry for the very late update once again. Got busy with a new job, but here's a chapter!

If John had superpowers, he would choose to have the ability of time travel, like how The Doctor can revisit and rewrite the past and how can he have a peek in the future.

That is, if time travel existed.

For once, John never knew how valuable time is. Every hour he watch Sherlock doing his ridiculous experiments, every minute Sherlock spent blabbering about finding him a new case, every second John waited for Sherlock to come back home, to him.

Spending a whole week inside the hospital was tiresome even for John. He barely had sleep, skipped meals, and even changes in his face are now recognizable: lines under his eyes and scruffily hairs on his chin are now even more noticeable. Of course in his one week of absence, his work as a teacher has been compromised. And today, John decided to leave the still comatose Benedict Cumberbatch in the capable hands of Mycroft’s security intelligence.

John’s priority for his quick trip to the university is to file a document of “leave of absence” until further notice. Sure, everybody would ask him where Ben is, but he can deny it or say nothing about it. After all, he mastered the art of lying and disguise in the skilled mentoring of Sherlock Holmes.

It was two in the afternoon when John finished all of his appointments. He was approved of his request in reasons that he needed to go to Cardiff in search for a new potential reagent in one of their studies with Ben. He has proven himself once again worthy of being Sherlock Holmes’s companion.

As he reached the school gate, his phone started vibrating. It’s a phone call from Greg. He immediately picked it up.

“Hello?” John started.

“John. Look I have news for you!”

John felt his heart racing immediately, sweat started trickling off his forehead despite of the cold weather. “Tell me, what is it?”

“Sherlock, or Ben, woke up this morning…”

“What?! Okay I’m coming down there as soon as…”

“Wait! Calm down, there’s more news.”

“Tell me fast Greg!”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone? Who?!”

“Sherlock…”

“What did you just say?!”

“Earlier this morning, Mycroft received a word from the hospital saying Sherlock woke up from the coma. I was nearest to the hospital so I came quickly to confirm. But I ended up seeing horrifying things John…”

“I thought Mycroft’s security team handle surveillance well!” John is now getting furious.

“That’s the problem. When I came to the hospital, the bed was empty, and everyone around Sherlock’s room was… dead. All of the security personnel, even two nurses who was assigned at the station, all dead.”

As he heard every word Greg said, John’s mind went blank. It was like back then, when he saw Sherlock dying. He hated this feeling, and it’s coming back, unwanted.

“John? John?”

John turned his phone off, and dashed to find a cab which would take him to the hospital, if possible, in a blink of an eye

  * \--



As John rushed to Sherlock’s room, several police officers have been around, some questioning, others investigating the scene. Blood designed the walls of the hospital, decorated with yellow police lines. Greg immediately came running to him, leaving Mycroft inside Ben’s hospital room.

“John. Stay back.”

“No, Greg, I want to see his room!”

Greg wondered where John’s strength came as the shorter man pushed him out of his way. John stepped on a puddle of blood and entered the room. He saw Mycroft, who was by far the most stressed person in the room, staring at the wall ahead of the patient bed. When John looked up, terror filled all his insides, as the markings seemed so familiar that he has seen them, in yellow paint, and oh that smiley face that brings distress instead of happiness.

_GOT SHERLOCK! YOUR NEXT MOVE?_

John could not believe what he saw. Sherlock did everything to stop him, even sacrificed himself so that he could bring an end to his vast criminal network. It could only be a work of the cruelest and vicious man he has ever known, one that could match Sherlock’s brain.

_Jim Moriarty._

If John had superpowers, he would choose the ability to time travel. Because he could go back to the time when Sherlock and Moriarty were on the rooftop, and finished Moriarty with his own hands, and saving Sherlock from his demise.

Now Jim is back, and Sherlock is once again gone, and now John badly needed one thing which could not be done: an impossibility.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short. just to compensate. :D

For years John admonished this feeling, the feeling of true fear knowing that there is someone greater than him in terms of intellectual aspect. Once, a thought crossed his mind: _What if Sherlock and I were on the opposite sides of the coin?_ Well, that would be the most horrible thing, because he knows what Sherlock is capable of doing evil things.

Next on that list, is Jim Moriarty.

Playing a game with Moriarty is like walking in a very narrow road with the either side being a cliff. He is cunning, merciless, and yes, of superb intelligence. Sherlock is the only viable contender for a brain as clever as Moriarty. But what could his mere brain do against the Napoleon of Crime?

 _That is not the time to think such things!_ John straightened himself. The most important thing is to get Sherlock back in his hands safely. If Jim wants to play, then he will be playing against him.

As he examined the empty room, his phone pinged. He got a message from an unknown recipient. He swallowed some saliva in his throat, because he might have an idea on who it is. As he stood near the corner of the table, Mycroft silently observed him.

John read the message in his mind.

_Hello Johnny boy! Miss me? I presume you got my message at the hospital. Come out and play?_

Nervousness spiked up on John’s spine. He knows he can never tell anyone about this. This is between him and Jim, and he must settle this at once. John walked briskly outside the room and directly headed outside of the hospital. A cabbie was waiting for him at the driveway. He knows it was the cab, because cab drivers are not allowed to park in the area, yet here it is, waiting for him.

John walked slowly towards the car, opened its back door, and entered it. The cab locked its doors, started its engine and moved.

“Hello Johnny boy!” It was him, that stupid Moriarty, wearing a cab driver disguise, with a face mask on. His words were barely understandable because of the mask blocking his mouth.

“Stop fucking with me Jim! Where is Sherlock?!”

“Oh come on! Please appreciate my disguise. I used this once with Sherlock. God, if you saw his face, he was terrified!” Jim told him. “Anyhoo, I let you used a ‘pass’ for this game, since it took a very long time for you to take a move.”

“I will kill you, Jim, I promise, I will kill you!”

“Not if I kill you first and do this.”

Suddenly, a cloud of smoke filled the entire vehicle. With John left unguarded, he inhaled an amount of gas enough to make him feel dizzy. He then again heard Jim talking to him.

“You know what John, I had a lot of things to tell you about. I’m a storyteller, remember? And as the author of this real-life novel, I want some characters killed off, including you…”

And with that John was engulfed into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

_Will I still wake up in the darkness?_

Cold and weary, Ben found himself sitting alone in the darkness. He knew that this experience is a reaction of the brain being in an unconscious state. But however science might provide an explanation for this, he hated it. He hated it because he is hearing some things that he is really unsure of.

A voice. He was certain it was a voice, a very familiar one. It was John of course. But he was talking to someone. Someone he knew, like they were sort of close with each other. However, he was also sure that it was not him that he was talking to. So why is he hearing all of these things?

 _This is my body, my brain! And I feel like someone is invading all of it!_  

In the middle of the darkness, he saw a light. It was like a mirror being reflected by the light of the sun. Ben immediately stood up, voices now gradually decreasing in volume. Instead of following John’s voice, he headed towards the light. He ran as fast as he can, running away from these ridiculous utterances. As he dashed he heard another voice besides John, which is now fading in slowly, and horrified of it.

_Afghanistan or Iraq?_

How is this possible?

_Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring._

Why? Why is he hearing this?

He now fully recognized the voice, and it was most terrifying when he knew who it was.

_Heroes don't exist, and if they did I wouldn't be one of them._

It was his own voice.

_Goodbye, John._

Ben is now finally reaching the light. He was engulfed by it, and he willingly jumped, leaving all of the uncertainties in the void.

Ben jolted awake, eyes wide opened, and a striking pain in his head. His sight scanned the entire room, and realized he was at a hospital, hearing the sounds of machines. He finally felt relieved, now that he was out of that world where he came from. He never wanted to go back there.

He was more relaxed when he saw someone on the visitor’s bench inside his room. It was a figure of a man, his only family, whom he thought came to rescue and care for him.

_Rich._

The figure stood up and went near his bed and smiled at him.

“Finally, you’re awake.”

Ben smiled back. It was the only answer he can give back in that state of condition.

“I am fully aware that you have been through a lot, especially after the incident. And I never thought that some outsiders ruined my plan.”

Ben is now getting confused with his words.

“See, I don’t know what your brain has told you by far, but we’ll avoid that.” The figure is now holding a syringe and Ben’s felt fear and uncertain for what will happen next.

“Because Ben, I’m not the person you thought I am. Now, Let’s get you back into darkness, shall we?”

The fluid in the syringe slowly passed out as it was injected in Ben’s IV tube. Ben panicked and all he ever wanted at that exact moment is never to go back in that desolation of extreme perplexity, and the worst part is, it was his brother that is sending him back there.

“Why… are… you…”

Ben never heard the answer, and now he is getting back in that forlorn place.

  * \--



John woke from a deep slumber, only to find out that his hands were tied up on a steel railing on either side, and he was half naked. He observed the whole place, eyeing for potential threats. It was a sort of laboratory, but instead of having lights, it was dimly lit. In front of him is a sort of box-shaped isolation room, and he can see what’s inside through a plexiglass.

As the lights switched on, he fully saw who was inside the chamber.

“Sherlock!” John called out as loud as he can.

“No use Johnny boy.” An external voice answered his cry.

“Let him go, Jim! Let him go!” John struggled with his tied hands.

“Oh no I can’t do that Doctor. See, I have invested a lot for this spectacle and it’s hard to let go of the main character don’t you think?” Jim went near John and run his fingers on John’s bare torso, feeling his abdominal muscles.

“You know, when I first had Sherlock, and all of you thought of him being dead, his muscles were thicker than this, although it was very evident that he has no interest in digestive mechanisms. I really restrained myself to give you clues because I was itchy to start playing the game, but patience is a virtue, as they say.”

“You were dead! You had a hole in your fucking head!” John spit out.

“And you wished for Sherlock Holmes not to be dead!”

Jim stared at John intently, John now feeling some of Jim’s saliva in his face. Jim fixed his suit and sat on a chair beside John.

“As I told you in the car, I am a storyteller, and now let me tell you the tale of this one of a kind reality show of mine.”

The lights dimmed again, and a widescreen flat monitor appeared in front of them, and the video played.

_Hello everyone. This is a trial airing of Jim’s reality show: How to enslave Sherlock Holmes, although that’s still a tentative title. Anyhoo, let’s start!_

“Now this is exciting!” Jim clapped his hands as he relaxed himself on his seat. Menawhile, John is starting to get nervous, at what would be revealed to him this instant.


	18. Chapter 18

Jim Moriarty is not just an ordinary criminal syndicate leader. He is also a well-known artist and a curious cat as he branded himself, and he wants life not to be boring, he wants it at its full dynamics. And the driver of that dynamics: fear and being lunatic from time to time.

In his excitement, Jim had a video camera set-up for the proceedings of his experiment today. Everything was at his laboratory: the equipments, the assistants, and things needed for the first day of experimental trial, and he wants everything documented, for entertainment purposes of course.

And yes, who would want to forget, the specimen. The specimen named Sherlock Holmes.

Everyone who saw a dead Sherlock on the pavement of Bart’s was an idiot. John Watson was even among them. If John was Sherlock’s “friend”, then he would’ve guessed that it wasn’t Sherlock that was lying there. It was all a set-up. Much more idiotic were the ones who thought that he died on that bloody rooftop. They should know that Jim Moriarty won’t be dead that easily, that’s a fact.

Jim believed that he should have been Sherlock’s best friend, than that of John. Because he knows how the consulting detective’s mind works, like a technician of clockwork. Every cog needed to keep it running, he knows. And maybe because he knew for himself that he loved Sherlock. Oh the flirting when they are at gunpoint, the “tension” when they had that cup of tea, that eye fucking they had on the trial, he always knew, that Sherlock Holmes is the one for him. But all of Sherlock’s thinking was focused to John. Oh that stupid, mediocre doctor who just runs along with him like a dog’s tail, wagging. What was in him that made Sherlock fall for him?

But fear not, because after the “Great Fall”, Sherlock’s escape vehicle was manned by his loyal subordinate, Sebastian Moran. As usual he was always a step ahead, and because before that encounter, before the “Great Fall”, Jim already had plans for Sherlock.

Like any other stupid person, Jim also had a childhood story. Back at the slums, he had a very nice and good friend that he treated like his own brother. Everything in Jim’s childhood, they did together: stealing a loaf of bread from the bakeshop, played with plastics that were considered trash, and even running home barefooted when the heavenly lights go out.

“So, what would you want to be when you grow up?”

“A professor slash doctor.”

“A professor and a doctor? Are you insane?”

“It’s a legit profession. Why, what about you?”

“Mafia leader!”

“You’re the one that’s crazy James.”

“At least, I’ll make more money than you, Ben.”

Because you see, Jim had one best friend back then, back when he thought he lived the life of a normal human being.

His name: Ben. Short for the most ridiculous name Jim has ever heard: Benedict Cumberbatch.

They promised each other that they will leave the slums and never going back there, ever again. And that they would make their wishes come true.

But that was a long time ago, because Ben has been long gone, rotting belowground as of today.

It will come to a time where friends need to separate ways. Both of them wanted to pursue their dreams, and in order to do so, they need to part ways.

“Ben, please, come with me. Let’s do this together.”

“Are you really out of your mind James? You’re doing things that hurt people! I want to save them!”

“People are just mere beings that are both stupid and dumb! You’re not people Ben, we are not people!”

“I want to live a normal life Jim, to have a wife, kids, a car, a house, a career!”

“You will have that with me!”

“Please just let me go James.”

“But Ben…”

“Please.”

Jim attempted to hold on to his hand one last time, but Ben put it away.

And as Ben went far away from him, he knew he has not just lost a friend, but someone that he truly loves, for a very long time.

Life, as he calls it, may be boring, but sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps a dead soul living. In Jim’s case, he found out that Ben lived the way he wanted: a boring life. He, on the other hand, has risen up in the unknown world of underground criminality, and he took joy of looking at the idiotic policemen that tried a hundred times to find and capture him.

Then one day came sad news. Ben died at the age of 35 due to lung cancer. Nothing can save him at that time. When Jim heard, all he did was to smile. To smile at those memories he had with Ben. Because if Ben went with him, he would’ve taken care of him. If he came with him, he will also rise to power and his name will be known to everyone that lead that same life. Because if he went with him, he will do anything just to keep him alive.

But, as what he says, staying alive is boring.

In his request, his subordinates took care of the most important thing he wanted from Ben: memories. In one of his research facilities, some of his scientists had the capability to process “mind uploading”, or the transfer or uploading of a person’s memories into a large computer system as a data. And like an external hard drive, Ben’s memories were locked away and only Jim knows how to access it.

A year after Benedict’s death, someone was tickling his underground criminal network. According to his sources, he calls himself a “consulting detective”, working under Scotland Yard, and has a blood connection with one of the most powerful person in the British Government. He has a brain that a normal person doesn’t. Intrigued, he went to see for himself, as a gay IT guy working at Bart’s Laboratory.

And Jesus when he saw him, his mind was entirely blown. Because he couldn’t believe on what he saw. He exactly looks like Ben, his Benedict. His eyes, his cheeks, his stature, every physical characteristic shouted Ben. And he knew what he should do, what he is destined to do, and that is to bring Benedict Cumberbatch back from the dead, using Sherlock Holmes’s body.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHERLOCK SERIES 4 TRAILER IS OUT PEOPLE! Check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlcWFoNqZHc
> 
> AND YES IT WAS BECAUSE OF THIS THAT I WROTE THIS CHAPTER I LOVE BBC's SHERLOCK SO MUCH!

“Wakey wakey, Sherlock.” Jim said to the bounded figure, running his hands to his soft cheeks. The figure groaned, and was terrified of seeing him.

“So… it was… you.” Sherlock said weakly. He was on his white long-sleeved shirt, and his slacks. His Belstaff coat is missing. Worst is, he is tied, both of his arms, like he was about to be tortured.

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be? Mycroft? Greg Lestrade? Johnny boy?”

Silence.

“You know Sherlock, I’ve gone uncontrollably fond of you. Everything you do makes me happy, although sometimes it doesn’t.” Jim said. He carefully unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt one by one, until his bare torso has been exposed. Then his hands now travelled on his chest down his abdomen. “You know, he had a body like this.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Well, let me say this to you directly, Sherlock. I have so many things to do to you. And since I love you so much, I’m going to give you something that you’re ‘friends’ don’t want to give you.” Jim went back to his side table and carried a syringe full of a transparent liquid. “I love you so much, I’m willing to give you this.” Jim went back near to Sherlock and inserted the needle into the vein in his right arm. Sherlock yelped, and he can see the full amount slowly disappearing.

In a few seconds, Sherlock can finally feel something in his brain. He felt relaxed, and immediately knows what was given to him.

“Co…caine.”

“Oh, finally figured it out. But see, I’m willing to give you everything because I love you so much.”

Unguarded, Jim inserted another set of liquid in the same arm. “Then was cocaine, now’s morphine. I wonder what’s the effect of that to your body. Call me curious, and also, this is how I show my appreciation. You wanted drugs? I’m giving it to you, all of them, starting today, and the next, and the next.”

Now Sherlock can feel a stinging in his veins. He hasn’t felt this. His brain was all fuzzy, and his muscles won’t seem to move. His breathing is also erratic. Everything else is wrong. And he doesn’t like it.

“Make it… stop… please.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous Sherlock. You wanted this. Now you’re getting two of it and you’re refusing?”

Jim never heard a response. Sherlock is knocked down unconscious.

“Administer the same amount of morphine and cocaine every after five hours, all week long.” He announced in an authoritative voice. Everyone else around the room nodded.

That was Sherlock’s routine for the first week under Jim’s care. Besides the drugs, nothing else comes inside his body system. And every time the drugs kick in, he was never put away from misery. Drugs are supposed to make you feel good, but this makes him feel hell.

The following week Jim came, Sherlock is very pale, full of sweat. Now his upper body was left bare naked, slacks now kind of dirty.

“My, my, look how awful you are. I thought drugs would make you feel better.” Jim said, amused. Silence was all he could hear. Jim took off his Westwood coat and a servant caught it for him. He wouldn’t want his precious coat decorated with blood.

“What I’m about to you, my dear Sherlock, is to get back from everything you’ve done. I told you back then to leave me alone, but your stubborn head says the opposite.”

Jim ran his hands to his hair, and then suddenly he kicked Sherlock on the abdomen, sending Sherlock shortness of breath in his sudden move. Then he received another kick in his back. Sherlock is now coughing blood.

Jim grabbed the detective’s curls. “How do you like my new moves, Sherlock?”

“Why… are you… doing… this?”

Jim slapped his face. “Because that’s how I care for you.” And slapped him again.

Sherlock figured out what’s next for him. This week would be torture and physical pain. Sherlock received every punch and kick thrown at him.

Jim finally started getting tired. He left Sherlock back there, blood dripping from his forehead, his mouth, and oh the pain in his body.

That’s how his second week was about.

On the third week, Sherlock woke up tied in a chair. However it wasn’t an ordinary chair, because there was a machine attached to it, and he’s feeling fear like never before.

“You awake love?” Jim asked him.

“What do you really want Jim?”

“You’ll know soon my dear. It’s your third week, am I right?” And now we’ll be using this!” Jim pushed a button and Sherlock felt funny but painful, it was electricity, and he was being electrocuted by Jim Moriarty. The machine stopped, and Jim laughed at him. “I think it was on the weak notch. Let’s take it up higher.”

And that’s it, Sherlock could feel the electricity crawling in every muscle of his being. Everything was painful, and his sight is starting to get hazy. Finally, he accepted to himself. Every decision he made was wrong, leaving everyone that cared for him unhappy. If John was here, oh if only he was here…

But he was knocked out unconscious.

Jim turned the machine off. “Was that enough?” he shouted. Three people in white coats emerged from the darkness.

“Sir, we need to continually do this in order for him to get used to it.” A lady said.

“And while we conduct these tortures, we need to alter the information we give him, slowly.” A man continued.

“This is how we could inhibit his memories sir.” The taller lady told him.

“Inhibit? I thought we could erase his memories.” Jim said, now he’s starting to get furious.

“The technology we have sir is just put his real memories in hibernation. It’s like switching his long term memory core off. In that way we will be able to insert the memory data of Mr. Cumberbatch in him.”

“Do everything for that to be possible. I don’t care what happens to his brain.”

And with that Jim exited himself.

It was like that for the next weeks. Every whip he received, every fluid injected in him, every electrical amount that jolted on him, Sherlock would be given a new information.

“How’s your class at Brooklyn, doc?”

_What?_

“Kid’s growing now huh? You such have a very lovely wife!”

_Kid? Wife?_

Then he figured out, they are giving him false information. For what purpose, he doesn’t know, but all he knows is that they’re doing something psychological to him.

When Jim came back at the end of the second month to be the one in charge, he asked Sherlock funny questions, like what is his name, where did he come from, all those things, but this was only Sherlock’s response.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

That was his answer to every question, then followed by a beating. It was his mantra, the only thing that keeps him alive.

_John.Whatever it takes, I will come back to you._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit chapter. :)
> 
> all drugs mentioned in this story are fictional. they are not real

“What is your name?”

“J-John W-Wats-“

 _*wuh_ -PSSSH*

Jim’s choice for today’s torture is whipping. It’s not just an ordinary whip, but a flogger he bought from his Spain trip. He thought it would be perfect for his visit to Sherlock the following day. And here they are: Sherlock’s cheek bleeding, back wounded, and thighs swelling. At first Jim enjoyed the beating, but then got annoyed by Sherlock’s repeating answer.

“WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING NAME IDIOT?!”

“J-John Wat-son. 221 B B-Baker S-treet…”

 _*wuh_ -PSSSH*

Jim forcefully grabbed Sherlock’s now long hair. He looks different from the Sherlock he used to encounter, aside from being totally wounded, of course.

“This is getting rather hard on my part.” Jim breathed heavily from the tiring torture he just facilitated. Sherlock coughed so hard, he spit blood on the floor.

“Wh-whatever it is… that you… wanted… to me… you won’t get…it.” Sherlock managed utter words slowly, feeling the fresh pain from the flogger’s force.

“You give me no choice, Sherlock. Remember, you brought this to yourself.”

Jim went to open a briefcase with test tubes containing a translucent fluid, and then a syringe then went to Sherlock for the injection process. He once again inserted it in Sherlock’s arm which is already filled with swollen marks. Then, he stripped the detective out of his clothing.

Sherlock was feeling dizzy again, but it was unlike the mixture of morphine and cocaine. He felt his temperature rising, and didn’t even recognized he was standing there naked in front of his archenemy. Suddenly, Jim advanced toward him and whispered, “I knew about your little secret with John. You fucked him didn’t you? How did it felt? Is John delicious? Hot? Slick? Wet? I bet he wantonly begged for you to fuck him.”

“No… I…” Sherlock’s breathing pace is now increasing, as he felt Jim gently caressing his chest. Jim got another bottle in his pocket and inserted its nozzle into Sherlock’s nose. “Breathe it in, Sherlock, breathe it in.” Sherlock having no choice, and being weak, inhaled the scent the bottle emitted.

Jim then threw the bottle and said, “Do you want to feel how John felt when you fucked him? When you inserted your hard cock in him?” Sherlock couldn’t understand everything Jim said, due to the hazy feeling in his mind. All pain has been forgotten and he felt uplifted.

A few seconds came by, and Sherlock felt a straining feeling in his penis. How did he got it, he never knew. It’s just there, and he needs it to be gone.

He finally felt a sensation when he felt a hand grabbing his genitalia, and oh God it felt good. There was nothing in his mind, but that pleasure and…

“Yes! More!” Sherlock finally moaned loud.

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” Jim answered, as he slowly stroked Sherlock’s now aching prick. Jim then licked the blood in Sherlock’s cheek, making him moan louder, and kissed his mouth hungrily. It was not only Sherlock being aroused, but Jim as well, his cock wanting to spring free from his tailored pants.

As much as Jim wanted to continue, he immediately stopped, leaving Sherlock wanting more. Sherlock wanted to go to Jim, but halted by his hands being bounded.

“Please… I need…”

“And you told me you weren’t one of the ordinary people.”

“Please fuck me.”

It was the only thing in Sherlock’s mind now, the sound voice of his brain being blocked by the fuzzy-like sensation filling the interior of his skull. Everything forgotten, who he was and what is  important, all gone.

“Tell me, what’s your name. I wanted to hear it correctly or else you’re not gonna get fucked.”

Sherlock panted heavily as he searched for answers. Who was he? He muttered words earlier but even how many times he wanted to remember, he couldn’t. His aching cock now at the verge of need, and he must provide an answer in order for him to be satisfied.

Then suddenly he heard voices in his head, telling him what to do, asking him questions, everyday, accompanied by a slap, kick or punch in every body part possible. Finally he realized it was for the best to forget everything, and follow the voices engulfing his brain at this very moment.

“My n-name is… Ben.”

Jim wass delighted of Sherlock’s new choice of words. “Again?”

“B-Ben. I’m Ben.”

“Oh Ben, what would you like me to do to you?”

“Please fill me with your cock. My name is Ben, and I want to feel your hard cock inside me.”

Jim looked at Sherlock. _This man is not Sherlock Holmes._ Sherlock looked back at him, panting and drooling, begging for his arsehole to be filled.

_This man is just nobody. And him being nobody means he is mine._

“Who would’ve thought that sex would be your final breaking point?” He said as he positioned himself at Sherlock’s entrance, and without any preparation, inserted his hard dick inside Sherlock.

“Yes! Fuck me!”

“You like this Ben? Me, fucking you in this dilapidated room? My hard cock filling your insides?”

“Yes! I want your cock inside me!”

“Tell me your name again! NOW!”

“B-Ben! I-I’m cum- nnnngggggaaaaah!’

Sherlock came, spurting hot semen on the floor. Jim followed after a few hard thrusts, and came inside Sherlock. The taller man collapsed on the cum-filled floor.

“Fuck.” Jim said. “Best torture session I had with you.”

Jim zipped his pants back. He can’t wait for tomorrow’s torture.

  * \---



“Mark my words, devil: I will kill you!” John said, feeling anger surging in his head, as he smirked looking at Jim.

“Why? You didn’t like how I mercilessly fucked your boy toy? Oh John, if you could only hear him begging again and again for my cock, you would be so aroused!” Jim said laughingly.

“After all of this shit is done, you will be going straight to hell!”

“Oh, doctor. Here, at this moment, I am hell. “

Jim bit John’s earlobe. On John’s mind, the only thing running is how to kill this monster for everything he did to his best friend.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is purely narrative I think, so please do not get bored reading it. I tried to explain everything that happened here. :) in short, revelation time!

Jim loved the fact the best phase of torturing Sherlock is the sex part. He loved how Sherlock screamed, moaned, and groaned pleasure. He loved how every action Sherlock did made him aroused. To Jim, the sexual torture he did to Sherlock is not torture anymore.

The phases of the experiment had been established already, as what his scientists told him during the meeting. Depending on Sherlock’s immune system and body resistance, phase 1 will be physical torture, including drug insertion, beatings, and electrocution, while repeatedly given new information to alter his memory data. Phase 2 includes the sexual torture, as to respond to aching need to be pleasured, he needs to be stimulated to give the answer the torturer wants. Jim was advised that any of his subordinates can perform phase 2, but he insisted, because Sherlock as he says, “Sherlock is mine.”

Unexpectedly, six months after the continuous phase 2, today was the start of phase 3.

A report reached Jim earlier that day, wherein one of his people reported that Sherlock collapsed without anything being done to him. Doctors found out that Sherlock’s body had been very weak, and now he is in a comatose state. This is the third phase of the torture. Sherlock will be able to rest after almost a year of being tortured, and it is on the part of Jim’s team in securing him alive. Hopefully after this phase, Sherlock wakes up, forgetting his past life, his past memories in hibernation. The only risk is Sherlock’s chance of survival.

At that point, the tortures the detective received inflicted a large damage, as what Jim had observed when he visited Sherlock in his exclusive room with complete hospital equipments. He never saw those before: the bruises, the marks, the cuts. Sherlock had become a total wreck.

_But soon you’ll be born again, back in my arms, under my loyalty, and love._

Jim caressed Sherlock’s now long and still curly hair. He wanted to admit to himself that he adored Sherlock. But Ben, it is Ben whom he loves, and he will come back to him, as who he is.

Phase 3 involved a lot of waiting. A year and a half passed by, and one day Sherlock was pulled back to consciousness. He was still unable to speak, and experienced severe headaches. Doctors took care of him, as per Jim’s instruction. However, Jim was advised not to visit him, until he reaches phase 4.

When Sherlock was slowly recovering, Jim observed him from the camera room for an interview. He was asked al lot of questions, his name, how did he got here, where did he come from. But Sherlock only answered one thing.

“My name is Benedict. That’s the only thing I can remember.”

With that statement, Jim felt at ease. Phase 3 was a success. He is one step closer in bringing Ben back.

A month after recovery, phase 4 has been initialized. This is the second most vital phase, which as the scientist called it, “the uploading phase”. Sherlock was told that he will undergo a surgery, and without any hesitation, he approved of it. Unknown to him was that this will be the day that he will undergo the memory uploading, from the computer to his brain.

The operating room was not a typical one. It had large supercomputers, large processors, and on the center, is a chamber for the specimen. As Sherlock has been unconsciously delivered, Jim was observing from the second floor, on the room with a glass encasing. From there he can see everything that his team will do for this vital phase.

Sherlock was positioned inside the chamber. Data cables were now being attached in his forehead. He was also bounded in his arms and feet. His vital signs were checked and maintained. And when everyone’s ready, the uploading process starts.

As the tall lady in a lab coat pressed “Enter”, Sherlock’s body started to shake. His head, which is where the cables were attached, agitated from left to right. This, as what one of the scientists explained, is the neurons receiving a large amount of foreign data. The natural electrical signals in his brains are paused, paving way for the new electrical signals from Ben’s memory file. This sends the brain to confusion, emitting pain hormones to the area, which is the forehead. In other words, Sherlock is now experiencing a very painful headache. After a few minutes, Sherlock, even though unconscious, started screaming, shouting for the unexplainable pain he feels. His voice was the only outlet for it.

Jim just stood there, and felt no remorse. He promised to himself that if it would be successful, he will make up for everything he did to Sherlock’s body, because soon it will be Ben’s.

The duration of phase 4 was almost five hours: five straight hours of Sherlock yelping from pain, of his body in complete tremor. After the transfer process yielded 100%, phase 4 was a success.

Sherlock was then transferred immediately to the stimulation room, where the final stage will initiate. He will be subjected into stimulations via augmented reality. Here, he will be exposed to Ben’s life: having a wife, kids, and introducing a new character, Rich, his brother, which will be played by Jim Moriarty.

Phase 5 was the longest duration of the experiment, because the brain must be fooled and directed to create memories based on the uploaded data, and no memory must be of Sherlock. As they observed Sherlock, in the stimulation room, there were no signs of his previous self, his deductions, his arrogance, and even his brilliance. He went mediocre, carrying all of Benedict Cumberbatch’s qualities. However, from time to time, he experiences headaches, which, may be due to the adjustments of his neuronal activity, but it will not be much of a problem.

Five years in the simulation room, and Sherlock was finally exposed to the real world. He is now Benedict Cumberbatch, a psychologist from Florida who had a teaching experience in Brooklyn. He has a wife and a little boy. His mother was a Londoner, who came to America and had him and his brother. In his childhood, the only family he had was his older brother Rich, whom he loved so much. Together, they fought his brain injury, which he got from an accident when he was young, which is the reason why he had recurring headaches.

Sherlock, now Benedict, had initial interactions only with Jim, or as what he knows, is Rich. Two years after, and he went with Jim’s trips and dealings. Finally, Ben was ready to face the outside world. He received a call from a school principal in London, who needed a psychology department head.

Jim wanted to test everything, and so he let Ben fly back to London, keeping an eye on his every movement. He also knew that John Watson was in that school teaching, but he wanted to see for himself the fruits of his waiting.

It was a total of more or less fifteen years to complete the experiment, and Jim created Ben in his liking. All of him was his.

Until John kissed Ben, and Ben was shot by a stupid prick, which lead everything and everyone here.

But on Jim’s mind, seeing that the results were just temporary, wanted to make it permanent. Now he wants Sherlock back under him, and he plans to make things insanely right. He's a perfectionist, and anyone standing on his way, must be destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're nearing the end guys! for those asking, here's my tumblr account: http://the221b-consultingblogger.tumblr.com/


	22. Chapter 22

The truth has been laid to John, every single thing was clear to him, how Sherlock became Ben, and it was all Jim fucking Moriarty’s fault. He never expected him to be such a selfish jerk, even though he fully expressed that he was not among the ordinary. Well maybe the extraordinary ones still do have a flaw, as how John sees Sherlock too.

Fact is, Jim cared. He cared for Ben, and John didn’t see anything wrong with. But hurting Sherlock just to be used, now that, that there is a very huge mistake, and an unforgivable one. And John didn’t mind if Jim cared. He wants him dead, for everything he did to Sherlock, to the both of them.

“Fuck you!” John spit the words in full anger.

“Now now John, don’t be furious. I enjoyed my time with Sherlock as much as you did.” Jim playfully spoke the words, making John a lot angrier.

“You’ve destroyed Sherlock’s life just for your bloody experiment!”

“And I don’t regret anything about it.”

“You! You were the reason why Sherlock pushed himself to the fall!”

“Wait? I was the one who pushed him? Let me make this clear Johnny boy. It was his choice to jump just to save your lives! You could only blame Sherlock!”

Jim strode around John, examining all of his being. John was sweating, and his wrists are now sealed with rope marks. He loved teasing John, seeing him getting irritated by every word he uttered. Because he knew that John ends up only on words, and there can be no possible actions to undo it.

“I must tell you John. For the next round of my experiment, I am planning to destroy Sherlock’s previous memories to accommodate for the altered memory data. I want him as dark as possible, with no mercy and awe. I want him to be the perfect soldier, to carry out my dealings without hesitation, to kill when I want him to kill, to be fucked when I want to fuck him. Fact is, that intellectual brain he has, I wanted it destroyed! It’s a freaking buzz kill you know. Imagining it, I would love to see Sherlock in that state.”

John couldn’t take it anymore. He was full of Jim’s useless words. It was hurting, painful to even imagine Sherlock shattering like that.

“I am the one who loved Sherlock!”

“But you never saved him, did you?!” Jim grabbed a fistful of John’s disoriented blonde hair. He looked into his eyes and said, “You had every chance to save him John! You told him he was a machine but you knew that wasn’t true! You left him alone in that building suffering from fear, even if you told him that you won’t leave his side! You could’ve saved him if you continued to run and stopped him! Instead, what have you done? You cursed him, you left, you just stood there, as he exchanged his fucking life for yours! And you tell me you loved him?” Jim slapped John in the face and punched him in the gut, earning a yelp from John. Jim was carried away with his emotions. How dare John tell him he loved Sherlock? If he did, he will do anything just to save him, as what he would have done to Ben.

Jim grabbed John’s hair again. “Now, look at what I will do to him John. You will serve as the grand audience! Our VIP for the second blockbuster screening of my show! Look at him from where you are right now, as he will scream in agony. I’ve already enjoyed this. Now’s your turn.”

“No, no, please…” John’s furious tone now became a begging one. He doesn’t want to see this. He hated to admit it, but Jim was right, and now he can’t afford just to watch, again, as Sherlock suffered again for his own sake.

“No no no no, please Jim, please…”

“Too late.” Jim whispered. He waved at the controller in the panel who waited for his signal, and pressed a button.

What John was able to do was just to look, as Sherlock inside the chamber started convulsing. He’s back at this scene, where he can’t do anything for the man he loves.

_No. It won’t stop here. I will save him. I will save Sherlock Holmes._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end people... :D

Ben found himself lying in a vast place called nowhere. It was all black, and everything he sees are all the same as if closing his eyes. But after a few minutes of his fluctuating consciousness, a sudden flash of light came to his eyes, and suddenly he was brought to a certain room.

The walls were coated with white paint. As he looked around, stumbled onto a metal table where glasswares were clinging: a petri dish, a graduated cylinder, a beaker, all of different sizes was laid there. He then realized it was a laboratory he landed on. His attention was then brought to the door opening.

“Well, bit different from my day. “

“You’ve no idea!”

He suddenly recognized the first voice.

_John!_

Suddenly he turned his head on the other side when he heard a voice saying

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine. “

When his eyes laid on the figure, all he can see is his silhouette. The person was a bit blurry from his vision, although Ben could clearly see the entire place, John, and even John’s companion.

_His voice seems familiar._

Recognizing the most important thing here, that is, to get out of this mystery, Ben desperately called for John, but it seems he was just a mystic figure that nobody in the scene can see. Realizing that it was no use, Ben got caught intrigued again by that enigmatic figure he just saw.

_Why can’t I see him clearly?_

He then saw John reaching out his phone to the figure when it asked,

“Afghanistan or Iraq? “

“Sorry? “

Ben then carefully listened to the figure, fascinated by the curiosity in John’s tone.

_Wait, I’ve asked John the same question before._

The figure asked for the second time,

“Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq? “

“Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...? “

Ben’s attention was stolen by a stirring rod that fell on the floor. When he tried to pick it up and put it back to the table, he was suddenly transported into a taxi, or what Brits call a cab. Ben looked around, terrified and saw John and the mysterious figure were seated on the back, and he was on the front seat.

“When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” You looked surprised.”

“Yes, how did you know? “ John was still evidently dumbfounded in his tone. Ben listened very carefully to each of the man’s uttered word.

“I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.”

It’s now Ben’s turn to be dumbfounded. _This man is brilliant, and dangerous._

The man continued to deduce everything, even with John’s phone, discovering he had an alcoholic sibling. Then the figure said,

“There you go, you see – you were right. “

“I was right? Right about what? “

“The police don’t consult amateurs. “

“That ... was amazing. “

Ben finally realized why was the man’s voice was familiar. He was the other voice he heard these past days when he’s conscious. But it’s not enough. He needed to know who he is.

As John and the figure stepped out of the cab, Ben followed, only to find out that he was on a very familiar place, the wallpaper, the two couches, the fireplace, the skull. He was on John’s former flat: 221 B Baker Street. He saw John standing at the back on one of the couches. He was talking to the figure, which was sitting on the other. John looks furious and said,

“There are lives at stake– actual human lives... Just – just so I know, do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake. “

“And you find that easy, do you? “

“Yes, very. Is that news to you?”

“No. No.”

“I’ve disappointed you.”

“That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah. “

“Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.”

The figure looked at his phone, and John followed, as they both strode out of the room’s door. Ben examined the place again, and saw the skull he once held. As he stared at it, something came up in his head

_Wait, could this man be…_

As he turned his head, the skull in his hands was gone, and then he heard silence, and saw an amount of smoke coming behind his back.

“Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?” The figure said, the blown smoke was from his cigarette. Ben was amazed by the man standing beside him. He knew the man, the man he and John met at the restaurant. He was still on a sleek suit and uttered,

“All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.”

Ben saw the man leaving, greeting the other man, or was his name _Mycroft,_ a merry Christmas?

Ben followed the figure and when he went out of the door he was brought on a place where he felt the cold wind blew. He looked around, and walked on the edge of the cemented space. He was shocked as he looked down on people passing by. He was at a building with a great height. As he further inspected the place, he stumbled on something, and when he looked, he was appalled by the sight: It was Rich, dead, on the floor, blood oozing from his head, eyes wide opened, smiling. Then, he saw a figure standing on one of the edges, and when he was about to advance towards him, the figure started to talk.

“Welcome, Mr. Cumberbatch, to my palace.”

“I-I’m sorry, but you can see me?”

“Of course. You were a silent observer since you first entered.”

Ben can’t imagine, but as he carefully listened, he realized that the voice of this figure was very similar to his, a low baritone. The figure got down from the edge, and turned around.

Ben started once again, “Excuse me, but are you…”

“Sherlock Holmes? Yes, yes I am.” The figure’s image was now all clear to Ben, gathering and trying to understand the truth behind this man, who strikingly looked like him. It was like looking at a mirror, instead your reflection does not match your clothes, and hair style, but aside from all of that, Ben saw his image in him.

“It’s my mind palace, which now I fondly call it my core hard drive. I think you have been toured to some of my memories..”

“Y-Your memories?”

“Yes.”

“Explain it to me then, Mr. Holmes because everything up to the first time I got here until now is a mess!”

“Actually, you are brought here to make a very hard decision, and I am here to beg for the right choice.”

“What?”

“You are inside my memory, Mr. Cumberbatch. All of those events you saw are all mine. My memories were put into a deep sleep fifteen years ago, and you my friend, your memories became the control center of my body.”

“What do you mean?”

“In other words, your memories control my body, not my memories.”

“W-Why? H-How?”

“You see that dead man there, that’s not your brother. Try to remember. That’s James Moriarty. Your childhood best friend, now a leader of a wide criminal syndicate in London and other European countries. He even invited you once, but you wanted to have a normal life, am I right?”

Ben’s head began to think, and suddenly all of Sherlock’s words made sense. Yes, it was all true. “But how did I-“

“You, sir, died eighteen years ago, and this man loved you. You didn’t know it, but he did. He was so desperate to claim you back, he uploaded your memories on a computer and saved it until he found me, someone who resembled you. Then he uploaded your memories, letting my memories hibernate.”

“How?”

“How, you ask? By torturing me. Giving a mixture of drugs that I once wanted but didn’t when I knew the effects. By physically hitting me, by letting me sit on an electrical chair, by injecting sex-stimulating drugs and fucking me until I forget everything. But no, I didn’t forget. I just wanted to protect myself from forgetting: forgetting my friends, my brother, my John.”

“No, James wouldn’t do that!”

“Yet here we are, Mr. Cumberbatch!”

Ben couldn’t believed everything this man is saying. _What is this shit? I need to go back to reality now!_

Sherlock suddenly dragged Ben into the edge and pointed at a particular direction. “See that man there? That’s John…” Ben looked at him from a distance, and saw John, a bit younger than the John he knew, but the height, and the jacket, and the hair…

“Ridiculous jacket right?” Sherlock chuckled. “How is he?”

“He’s f-fine. But how?”

“That, I don’t know how to answer. I just feel him nearby.”

“So that’s why John kissed me. He already saw you in me.”

“Yes, coupled by alcoholic drinks, and thanks to that, I was brought back to reality for a few seconds.”

Ben turned away from Sherlock and asked, “Where are we?”

“Well, this is my last memory with John. The day I killed myself.”

“You what?!”

“See, Moriarty would’ve killed three of my friends, including John, if I don’t die. I had a back-up plan then, to escape and fake my death. But the bastard was one step ahead of me, and that’s why he had me captured, making me a specimen for his project, which bred you, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

“So everything, was a lie? I’m not even at my true body. So the frequent headaches were…”

“Yes, a side effect of the procedure.”

Ben fell on the floor, like all of his strength was being drained. It was all a fucking lie, and he does not have any idea on what to do.

Suddenly, he felt the building shake. The rooftop floor was cracking, and as he looked at Sherlock, horror was painted on his face.

“What’s happening?”

“There’s something coming. It’s trying to break my core memory.”

Ben grabbed Sherlock’s coat, and said, “The choice, what was the choice?!”

“You have to let me back to my body. It can only be done by you, since your brain is the control center of my body. Please, I can feel it. John is in danger and I need to save him.”

“But… but what happens to me?”

“I-I’m sorry. But you must go, your memories will be dissolved and you can’t come back anymore.”

“I-I…” Ben is now getting confused. He pushed Sherlock away. He was then caught on a very difficult decision. He loved his life in reality. He had a family, friends, a career, some assets. He wanted to go back there, because that’s where he belongs. But then he realizes, everything was a lie: was his family even true? Maybe that’s why he can only call and reach Rich, because he just played as his brother, and he even became suspicious that his wife was having an affair. Was his profession even real? Was everything in Ben’s reality a fiction?

“Please…” Sherlock begged once again. “I need to protect John. He’s the most important person in my life. If saving him means to get back here, or to be sent directly to hell, I will accept all the consequences. I… I love him. I love John, and I will do anything for him to be safe.”

Ben calmly collected himself. He walked to the edge of the crumbling rooftop, and had a look on London. Then he uniquely saw John which was on the distance. He was so worried, his face was so distressed, and oh the fear. Fear is eating John up as he looked at him. Maybe that was why John was miserable. He can’t accept the fact that he just stood there, watching his best friend, no his one and only love die for him. He would take the misery out of him, because he was John’s friend. He always will be.

Ben turned again to Sherlock. “Take care of John, Mr. Holmes.” Ben reached a hand to Sherlock.

Sherlock did the same in return. “Sherlock, please.”

“Then you can call me Ben.”

And with that Ben broke the handshake, spread his arms wide open, and jumped from the edge. Instead of landing on the pavement, Ben’s consciousness was wrapped on a trance, a sort of black hole, and he saw his body being torn down into little boxes, pixels, you might call them, and Ben went on an endless sleep.

Sherlock, was left there standing on the building, which now finally had larger holes than before. He ran towards the door Ben came in. And he took a last look on the memory.

 _Thank you Ben._ Then he turned his coat collar up.

_Time to be Sherlock Holmes, once again._


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler? yes you can say it's a filler.  
> but gah! i can't let a mystrade scene slip

_Observe John! Observe!_

John was finding a lot of discrepancies in his situation right now. Sherlock is in a lot of pain, and every scream that goes out of him is misery to John.

“Boys…” Jim said slyly. “Decorate Johnny boy up. But no killings please. I want _my_  Sherlock to do it.”

Jim walked away and through a door opposite the chamber. All of his men on the other hand were preparing for John’s torture.

_Fuck, this couldn’t get any worse!_

  * \---



“Myc, the team found John’s location.” Greg said hurryingly to Mycroft, whom he found staring at nowhere.

“Let’s go.” The elder Holmes sprawled at his feet when Greg touched his shoulders, letting him back to his seat.

“No, you can’t come with us. We don’t know the situation in there. Moriarty’s dangerous.”

“I know all of that Gregory, and I want to help getting my brother back!”

“Listen to me Mycroft! I don’t want you to go there because things might get worse if Moriarty saw you in there! Everything inside there is under his control, and he will just use you to his advantage.”

Greg looked intently into Mycroft’s eyes, the worry evident on its brown hue. Finally, Mycroft cupped Greg’s face. “Please, come back to me, alive, with my brother.”

Mycroft kissed Greg deeply. Greg just smiled. He stood up, and left. He did not say a word of promise, because he might end up not keeping it.

  * \---



“Ugh!”

John just received a blow in his gut. It was so painful, he coughed blood, which now streams on his chin. When another huge man aimed to punch him in the face, he swung his tiny legs and wrapped it around the man’s head, and using the force of the drop, John cut loose of his ties.

_I knew it, screws were loose. It just really needed a strong force._

John was eyeing on his Browning on the table. If he could just get it, then these huge men would hesitate coming directly at him. Most important thing is Sherlock, who is still in the chamber, and saw the progress bar. It was at 52%.

_Shit! Greg should’ve located me by now!_

John fought the men that blocked his way. His body writhes of pain, but it was nothing compared to hearing Sherlock’s agony inside the chamber. He knows his time is running out, and he needs to get there fast.

John went to the side of the chamber with the plexiglass and called out. “Sherlock! Sherlock! Do you hear me? I will get you out of there! I promise you! Sherlock!” John knocked on the glass hard, and even tried to shoot two bullets on the glass and three desperate shots on the either side of the wiring.

Suddenly, a huge explosion was heard in one corner of the room. Then he saw some armed men in uniform, slowly advancing towards the area. Finally, Lestrade’s back-up! The only thing to do is to stop the uploading process.

John climbed his way into the circular stairs that ended up being the control room. He saw the man in a while lab coat operating the system. He pointed his Browning at him, and said “Move!”

“But…” the scientist wanted to protest.

“Move!” John repeated.

Having no choice, the man moved himself out of the room, and tried to understand the working application. Finally to his relief,  John saw the ‘cancel’ button. The upload process is now at 68%.

_It all ends here. I will save you, Sherlock._

Finally, John pushed the cancel button, once.

But nothing happened.

Again.

Again.

Again!

Again!

_What the fuck?!_

John is now starting to panic. Sherlock never stopped wailing in pain

“My, my Johnny boy. You haven’t learned your lesson.”

Jim was holding up his gun, a Beretta, to the man in white coat.

“See that’s your problem, you never learn. If you just stopped and listened to this man, you would know what happens. Tell him, go on.”

In his fear, the innocent man spoke, “T-there are only two people who could cancel the uploading, me, and Mr. Moriarty, via voice recognition, and…”

*BANG!*

Jim shot the man on the side of his head. “Now there’s only one.”

John saw the blood flowing from the man’s head, which is now flowing at his feet. His memories rush back on those times, those times that he could never forgive himself.

Jim chuckled. “My, isn’t this a refreshing reenactment of Sherlock’s ‘death’?”

And that’s when John felt the true horror of making Jim Moriarty an enemy.


	25. Chapter 25

Nobody ever knew, except Ben, that John visits Baker Street from time to time. He still had his spare key, so what’s stopping him from going in that mystical hole of memories.

At times when John fights his depression, he goes to his old flat, _their_ flat. Contrary to what his therapist said that frequently going to the place where he had memories with his dead friend, it was much more relaxing, because he immerses himself to the fresh recollection, especially of course, of Sherlock. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, it was relaxing to relive the antics of his and his vibrant detective. There were even times when he sleeps at his bed, just to reminisce every sound Sherlock made while he was in bed, sometimes the violin, or the chemical bubbling, or even the loud bangs made by his Browning.

Oh how he wish he could turn back time!

  _No! No! NO!_

_Fucking think, John Watson! It’s not about your safety, it’s Sherlock’s!_

John snapped out of fear, realizing the state he is in. The only person who can stop the uploading process is Moriarty himself, so the priority is to capture him.

He tried to launch himself to Jim, but instead, Jim pushed him on the railing, where half of his body is ready to fall. Jim strangled his throat, now John’s breathing erratic.

“You cannot undo this, John.” Jim playfully said, head waving from right to left. “See the progress bar?”

John did. It was at 78%.

_Why is it fast?_

“Why is it fast you ask? Because Sherlock had undergone the process, and the brain adapts. Isn’t it magnificent?”

Jim then pushed John off the railing, his body producing a loud thud on the ground floor, pain exploding in his every muscle. Jim then followed, who jumped with a flawless balance, and kicked John in the stomach, grabbed his Browning, and threw it, landing near the chamber.

Jim now pointed a gun on John’s shoulder, which had a scar, the scar he had when he was in action in Afghanistan, the symbol of loneliness before he met Sherlock.

“What was more painful Johnny boy? The moment when you felt the excruciating pain of the hot and smoking bullet in your shoulder…” he whispered in John’s ear, emphasizing on his shoulder at gunpoint. “…or the psychosomatic limp that made you feel worthless? Maybe the time of Sherlock’s death, or the loneliness when you realized he was gone? Or this…” Jim now pointed his gun on the chamber. “…The feeling of wanting to save him? Yet you are here, about to die in my hands.”

The progress in now at 95%.

“But as I’ve promised, you’ll die on Sherlock Holmes’s hands. You will be his first kill, and I assure you it would be a splendid sight!”

Suddenly, John made a way to escape Jim’s hold at him, leaving Jim in shock. Meanwhile, the doors are now gearing to unlock, as the progress bar is at 99%, and white smokes covered the insides of the chamber, lessening its visibility to the outside.

“SHERLOCK!”

John shouted with all of his might and soul. Jim launched back at him, securing his position at capture. The bar hit 100%, indicating a completion of the process. The experiment was complete, and Jim has been waiting for this moment.

The doors went unlocked, the gases came out of the chamber, and a silhouette emerged.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the final chapter, for me haha!!
> 
> anyways, updated two chaps tonight.

The silhouette moved forward as well, stumbling on a small gun in front of him. He picked it up, and continued to move. A moment later he finally went out of the shadows, revealing Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock walked slowly, examining the area. His hair was still blonde and straight, his one eye covered by a disheveled hair, and body all sweaty, evidence from his screams and muscle spasms. But those weren’t the ones John saw at first when he came out. It was his eye. Although John can see only one, it gave something: the once hued eyes of Sherlock Holmes, which hinted blue, green, or a mixture of those colors had now, became black, almost as if they are of null entity.

_That’s not him. Oh God, that’s not him!_

What’s worse is that Sherlock was murmuring something inaudible at a certain distance.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was a witness of the scene. He saw with his own eyes, it was indeed Sherlock. He tried to silently move forward towards him when suddenly,

*BANG!*

Sherlock precisely shot him at his thigh, without even looking at him. Greg wailed in pain, as he saw the bullet engraved on his flesh, blood gushing out of the wound.

Meanwhile, Jim Moriarty let John loose, astounded by the effects of the uploading process. Jim left his prey on the ground, as he came forward, welcoming his creation at it came to life.

“My Sherlock Holmes” Jim extended his hands, as if welcoming someone with a huge embrace. He laughed hysterically, as if going out of his sane mind. “Or should I say, my love, Benedict.”

Sherlock still continued to murmur something, eyes darted blank.

John could not believe it. He was still too late, unable to save Sherlock from destruction. Sherlock even shot his friend Greg. How would he face Mycroft after all of this?! Everything he endured until now was put to waste, and all of this was his fault. All of it! He can’t control himself, tears rolling down his face, as he punched the ground in defeat until it bled.

Finally their distances closed, as Jim hugged his Frankenstein.

“You are beautiful.” He said as he cupped his face, eyes filled with awe. He hugged the figure, which continued to murmur words in his ears. As Jim heard it, he finally realized something different, something that is not right.

“What did you just say?”

In a split second, a gunshot was heard from their direction. John immediately looked up, and his eyes found Jim Moriarty on the floor, holding onto his shoulder, as blood came rushing out of it.

Finally, John was able to comprehend the words, each of it came clear, even though Sherlock’s voice was hoarse and monotonous, like a pre-programmed robot.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

*BANG!*

Another shot landed on Jim’s stomach.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

Jim laughed hysterically. “Finally… finally…”

*BANG!*

Another bullet landed on his leg.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

“Finally, I got to see you again, Ben-“He reached his hand out and then-

*BANG!*

Then suddenly a shot landed on his forehead, leaving Jim Moriarty dead, smiling.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

*BANG!*

The shot landed again on that same exact spot in Jim’s forehead.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

*BANG!*

And another one. Blood won’t stop coming out of Moriarty’s broken and destroyed brain casing.

Sherlock was about to fire another and started muttering words,

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s…”

“…Sherlock’s friend.”

John was behind Sherlock; his wounded yet warm hands wrapped the hand that held the gun, as he slowly put it down. Sherlock was looking at him, feeling the sensation of warmth, and seeing John’s face, releasing the gun from his grasp.

“John Hamish Watson. 221 B Baker Street. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Army Doctor. Sherlock’s friend.”

John cupped Sherlock’s face. And he answered him,

“Sherlock Holmes. 221 B Baker Street. High functioning sociopath. Consulting detective. John’s only best friend.”

Sherlock’s eyes looked intently at John, as John’s hand was wet with tears. Sherlock blinked at him, colors in his eyes starting to come back.

John suddenly pulled Sherlock into a deep kiss: a kiss of longing, relief, and happiness. They rested on each other's foreheads.

“Welcome back, Sherlock.”

“John, I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will still have another chapter in progress, just to put the story at rest. :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys. I'm still adjusting the chapters. But now I promise, THIS IS THE SECOND TO THE LAST CHAPTER

“Welcome back, Sherlock.”

“John, I’m home.”

Sherlock suddenly collapsed on the floor the minute he met John’s eyes. John followed, his hand still enclosed with Sherlock’s. The medical rescue team hurriedly attended to the wounded detective and his blogger. Another team went for Greg’s rescue, giving him his needed first aid.

At the hospital, Greg was finally tended, his injured leg bandaged, but the blood evident on it. As he was discussing his initial report for the Scotland Yard, Mycroft suddenly appeared, and the official didn’t care who was inside the room. Dropping all of his prowess, nobility, and elegance, the elder Holmes engulfed his detective inspector in his arms. Greg smiled, as he answered him with a hug. He nodded his head on his officers, signaling them to get out of the room.

Mycroft never let Greg go, not realizing that there were tears pooling in his face.

“I never had a god, but I’ve prayed to every single one of them for you to come back to me, alive.”

“Gladly it worked. I’m just injured Myc.”

“Thank you, Greg, for doing everything you can to save Sherlock.”

“Hey. It was payback. He was willing to die for me because he considered me as a friend, so am I. And of course, he was your family Myc. He was a part of my family.”

The hug was not still broken, as if a string was wounded around Greg and Mycroft.

  * \--



When Mycroft entered Sherlock’s confinement room, his younger brother was sitting straight on his bed, staring at the heads of the buildings which took a peek on his window. A bunch of tubes were connected through his body, on his left arm, on his chest, and even on his head. The monitors surrounding him were alive, like the last time he saw him on the bed, unconscious. But unlike those times, he was more relieved today, with his brother’s eyes wide open, adoring the giants of London.

He wanted to embrace him, even a lot tighter than how he did with Greg. But composure and control are the things that stabilize this intricate family relationship of theirs, a certified Holmes trait etched in their DNAs.

Mycroft said calmly, “Who would’ve thought that you were to be a part of Moriarty’s grand scheme, little brother?”

The only thing Sherlock answered was silence. He was still looking at the stillness.

“You look like there’s nothing wrong with you. And don’t you worry on your dramatic pull with Moriarty. I have ensured that nothing will ever come out to the press so as we-“

“I’m sorry, Myc.”

All of Mycroft’s senses heightened, as if a prey startled by his predator in the wild. Was he just hearing things? _Did Sherlock just call me “Myc”? He has not called me that since when? Back when he was still a toddler?_

“I’m sorry for everything…” Sherlock looked down on his hands, which were still shaking from everything that happened. “…I shot Greg, I injured John, I made you worry…” Now Sherlock smiled, tears pooling in his eyes. “I-I don’t know how… Maybe, maybe you should’ve just left me there, so that everybody was safe… M-Maybe… Maybe it would be best for everyone if I’d just-“

There was no stopping Mycroft to finally pull Sherlock with a hug. _Oh my little brother. This is him, my true little brother. It has been a long time since he had been this genuine to me. Oh, Sherlock._

Sherlock was crying in his arms, the burst of emotions which cannot be stopped has invaded the little Holmes. And Mycroft was filled with glee, because the noble British official Mycroft Holmes and the brilliant detective Sherlock Holmes has unmasked themselves, that they do care for each other, that for once they are allowed to be Mikey and Lockie, just like back then.

“Stop this Sherlock. We won’t be just at the sides, knowing that you fought. You did your part, to come back to us, and you did it successfully. Getting you back was the role we took, and there were no regrets of doing so.”

Sherlock lingered in his big brother’s arms for a while, letting all those fears slip away, as Mycroft continued to carry him.

Meanwhile, John and Greg was outside the room, gazing at the wonderful sight inside.

“See, they could really be humans.” Greg said smiling.

“Let’s savor the moment.” John replied. “We might not be able to see it again.”

The sun has set, and so did Sherlock’s fears.

  * \--



Sherlock awoke the next day with a feeling of warmth at his left cheek.

“Hey.” John said, staring at him.

“Mm.” Sherlock replied, savoring John’s warm hands.

“How are you feeling?”

“A lot better.”

“What about your head?”

“Better than the first time I got here.”

“There will still be tests for your brain functioning, alright? But doctors said we could go home.”

“Finally. I missed home. I missed you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’ll get my stuff cleared. Then a nurse will come to fix you up, then we could go home.”

Sherlock nodded in answer, and John kissed his still blonde hair.

  * \--



Sherlock and John arrived together back at 221 B Baker Street. John asked Sherlock if he wanted to rest for a while. So both of them went to Sherlock’s room, and they lay down together. Due to exhaustion, the blogger and his detective fell asleep, John on the nook of Sherlock’s neck.

Times passed, and suddenly John was slumped awake. He adjusted his eyesight, and expected to see Sherlock next to him. But as he felt the space next to him, he realized that it was empty. He jolted upright, as he called out, “Sherlock? Sherlock!”

But nothing came to answer. He looked all over the flat: from his bedroom, to the kitchen, and even downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. But nothing, there was no Sherlock.

John was stricken with fear, like a batter who just hit the ball hard for a win.

 _Where did he go? Or was I dreaming about all of this?_ _That all of this was just a beautiful nightmare?_

John didn’t know what to feel, as he sat down on the stairs, holding his head in confusion.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It's done!!
> 
> huhu *sniff* huhuhu :'(

A bypasser.

Like a bypasser, Sherlock Holmes walked right in front of John Watson’s life. And like a bypasser, Sherlock also popped out of his life like a bubble. Problem is, he is not an ordinary evader, he left memories to John, memories that would never be erased into his.

_Was everything really a dream?_

This day might like be those days that John relives his memories with Sherlock on the corners of 221 B: when he imagines Sherlock walking to and fro while deducing, when Sherlock smiles at him because finally he made John tea, or observing him doing his ridiculous experiments.

_Then I shouldn’t be awake._

John covered his face in grief. Eternal slumber may be the answer to his longing, because he won’t deny it, he was missing his best friend, his one and only love. And he can’t take this anymore, he-

“Nothing changes. Transport is still tedious.”

John finally looked up at the source of the voice. He was looking at a tall, beautiful man, with a straight black hair that’s now starting to curl. His heterochromic eyes, his perfect lips, his noble stature. Yes, it was the bypasser, the one that invaded John’s whole being.

“John, what’s wrong?”

John went towards him. He raised his one fist, pounding softly on the tall man’s chest. He felt his heart beating It was beating, he was alive. He pounded once again, the taller man’s chest heaving up and down, he was conscious. He pounded again, now his tears pooling up in his eyes.

“John…”

“You…will… never…do…that… to… me…again…” He said, pounding his fist on the man’s chest.

“Hey, hey John look at me.” The man said, lifting his chin, looking at John’s brown eyes. “This is me, Sherlock Holmes. I won’t be leaving you. I mean, what were you thinking? Look, I made a mistake, a mistake registered in my mind which I won’t be doing again. We’ve been through a lot John, and I want to do more and more things with you.”

Sherlock hugged John tightly, like the whole world was in his arms. John can’t stop sobbing. Then Sherlock kissed John on his lips. All of the longing both of them had for fifteen years, now being ended by a passionate kiss.

Sherlock and John proceeded to the latter’s room. They slowly undressed each other, like their brains directing them to do so, savoring every minute, every second like it was their last. The heats of their bodies became one. Sherlock marveled John’s body, as his fingers traveled from John’s neck down to his torso.

“You’re still gorgeous, John, even after all these years.”

“I got old, Sherlock.” John said, embarrassed by his lover’s compliment.

“No John, we got old. And we’ll be growing old, together.”

John kissed Sherlock’s nape, the scars of his torture still evident. John felt each of them. At first, Sherlock looked away from him, as though he was shameful of the marks. John held his cheek and turned his head back at John’s direction.

“Sherlock, everything in you is beautiful. This is the body of the man I loved, and you don’t have to be humiliated about it.”

As John worked his hand down, he reached Sherlock’s pelvis, down to his erection. Sherlock gasped, the reaction seemed unfamiliar due to the long years he hasn’t done this with anybody.

“J-John.”

John massaged Sherlock’s balls, which earned him a loud moan of pleasure from the detective. Finally, he licked the tip of his cock, which seemed to grow thicker at every sensation. Then he engulfed the whole length in his mouth.

“Oh God, John. Your mouth is… ugggggghhhh…”

John didn’t know what he was doing, but he guessed he was doing it right because Sherlock moans loudly at every stroke his tongue takes on his length. John released Sherlock with a loud pop.

Sherlock sat up, facing and adoring John’s back. He was hugging him from behind, as his lips traveled John’s neck , then to his shoulders, where his scar was eminent. His hand was stroking John’s growing member as well. John held onto his neck.

“I love you John.”

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock switched their positions. John took Sherlock’s finger in his mouth, sucking it.

“You’re still hot, God, I love you.”

Sherlock then prepared John, taking his index finger into John’s puckering hole. As he felt it inside, John groaned, feeling the uneasiness settling in. Another finger was pushed in, then another, and a change in his tone made Sherlock victorious, as he hit the spot of sensation John needed. He slide three fingers in and out, and he was answered by John’s wanton moans.

Sherlock made John face him, and both of them stared at each other’s eyes.

“The last time we did this was ages ago John, are you sure you-“

John silenced him with his lips. He aligned himself on Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock finally entered him.

“Sh-Sherl…”

“It’s okay love, it’s… oh John, you feel so good.”

Sherlock started a thrusting rhythm which John did as well. He started slowly, still kissing John hungrily, until Sherlock moaned in his sexy baritone.

“Mine. You’re mine, John Watson.”

“Always been yours.”

Sherlock pounded harder and faster on John, while John savored the entirety of Sherlock inside him. A few moments later, Sherlock came loudly, spurting his hot semen inside John.

As the consulting detective tried to catch his breath, John scooped Sherlock’s cum from his arse and plunged his coated finger inside Sherlock, preparing him. Caught unguarded, Sherlock gasped, feeling another sensation building up.

No, John was the one entering Sherlock, as he felt the entire girth of John’s cock inside him, every nerve and throb, he felt.

“John, you feel so good.”

“The things I want to do to you for a very long time, love.”

John thrusted and thrusted, hitting the right spot of Sherlock’s overwhelming pleasure. A few minutes later, John came on Sherlock’s abdomen. John fell on Sherlock’s body, as they both tried to catch their breaths.

Sherlock gently flipped John to the side of the bed, covering them both with John’s huge blanket. John scooted over Sherlock’s nape, thinking that this will always be his comfort zone, of all of Sherlock’s body.

“Love?” John tried to ask.

“Yes?” Sherlock said, still getting used to being called “love”.

“If you had ever met Ben, I think-“

“Yes, yes I did meet him.”

“When? Where?”

“Inside my mind palace. He had a wonderful trip of my memories.”

“How did you get out from that place?”

“I begged him.”

“Begged him?”

“Yes. I begged him so that I could take back the control of my body that I lost.”

“And how did he do it?”

“He jumped, like I did.”

John looked bitterly.

“If he was still alive, he would be a good friend of ours.”

“Yes, I think so too. But really, I was thankful to him. For allowing me to go back, for a chance to be with you. And I intend to keep my promise to him.”

“What promise?”

“To take care of you, and love you, always.”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who supported, read, and patiently waited for the updates of this fic, it is of my utmost gratitude that you have supported my work. This has been my stress reliever for a month, and seeing the hit counter add up everyday, as well as the comment sections getting more and more, and even the kudos, thank you so much guys! I'll never stop writing, that's a promise.
> 
> Please support my other fics. I'm still thinking of another version of this story, which is why I put it up in a collection. However, I am also planning of doing another collection of one-shots, so as to take a break from writing long-chaptered stories.
> 
> Sherlock and its related characters all belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (my literary hero), Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss (the most genius scriptwriter who ever lived), and the BBC.
> 
> Laters, baby!


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